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Books by 

MARK TWAIN 


Cloth 

The American Claimant 
Christian Science 
A Connecticut Yankee in Kino 
Arthur’s Court 
Following the Equator 
The Gilded Age 

The Adventures op Huckleberry 
Finn 

The Innocents Abroad 

Joan op Arc 

Life on the Mississippi 


Mark Twain’s Speeches 
The Man That Corrupted 
Hadleyburg 
The Prince and Pauper 
Pudd’nhead Wilson 
Roughing It 
Sketches New and Old 
The $30,000 Bequest 
Tom Sawyer Abroad 
The Adventures op Tom Sawyer 
A Tramp Abroad 


Thin-Paper Limp-Leather 


The American Claimant 
Christian Science 
A Connecticut Yankee in King 
Arthur’s Court 

Following the Equator. 2 Vols. 
The Gilded Age. 2 Vols. 

How TO Tell a Story 
The Adventures of Huckleberry 
Finn 

The Innocents Abroad. 2 Vols. 
Joan op Arc. 2 Vols. 


Life on the Mississippi 
The Man That Corrupted 
4 Hadleyburg 
The Prince and Pauper 
Pudd’nhead Wilson 
Roughing It. 2 Vols. 

Sketches New and Old 
The $30,000 Bequest 
The Adventures op Tom Sawyer 
Tom Sawyer Abroad 
A Tramp Abroad. 2 Vols. 


HARPER & BROTHERS, NEW YORK 



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TOM CANTY KNELT EEP’ORE THE KING 


THE 

PRINCE AND THE PAUPER 

A TALE FOR YOUNG PEOPLE OF ALL AGES 

BY 

MARK TWAIN 

cCl emnenSj Samae.! L-an^oMrxL a 

ILLUSTRATED BY 
FRANKLIN BOOTH 



HARPER y BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 



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• • 
• • • 



The Prince and the Pauper 
Copyright i88i, 1899. 1909. iQi?. by Samuel L. Clemens 
Printed in the United States of America 


K-R 


TO 

THOSE GOOD-MANNERED AND AGREEABLE CHILDREN 

SUSIE AND CLARA CLEMENS 

THIS BOOK 

110 Bffcctlonatels UnecrfbeD 


BY THEIR FATHER 



The quality of mercy . 

is twice bless'd; 

It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes; 

*Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes 
The throned monarch better than his crown. 

Merchant of Venice. 



Contents 


CHAP. PAGE 

Preface xiii 

I. The Birth op the Prince and the Pauper 1 

n. Tom’s Early Life 3 

Ur. Tom’s Meeting with the Prince 10 

IV. The Prince’s Troubles Begin 20 

V. Tom as a Patrician 25 

VI. Tom Receives Instructions 35 

VII. Tom’s First Royal Dinner 46 

Vm. The Question of the Seal 51 

IX. The River Pageant 55 

X. The Prince in the Toils 59 

XI. At Guildhall 71 

Xn. The Prince and His Deliverer 78 

Xm. The Disappearance op the Prince 93 

XIV. “Le Roi est Mort — ^Vive le Roi” 99 

XV. Tom as King 115 

XVI. The State Dinner 130 

XVn. Foo-foo the First 134 

XVlil. The Prince with the Tramps 148 

XIX. The Prince with the Peasants 159 

XX. The Prince and the Hermit 167 

XXI. Hendon to the Rescue 176 


Contents 

CHAP. HAGB 

XXn. A Victim of Treachery 182 

XXin. The Prince a Prisoner 190 

XXIV. The Escape 195 

XXV. Hendon Hall 199 

XXVI. Disowned 209 

XXVn. In Prison 215 

XXVni. The Sacrifice 228 

XXIX. To London 233 

XXX. Tom’s Progress 236 

XXXI. The Recognition Procession 240 

XXXH. Coronation Day 249 

XXXIH. Edward as King 265 

CONCLUSION. Justice and Retribution 275 


NOTES 


279 


Illustrations 


Tom Canty ICnelt Before the King Frontispiece 

The Two Went and Stood Side by Side Before a Great 

Mirror, and Lo, a Miracle! Facing p . 16 

He Turned, Doffed His Plumed Cap, Bent His Body in Low 

Reverence, and Began to Step Backward “ 56 

“I Think Thou Callest Thyself Miles Hendon, if I Heard 

Thee Aright?” “ 86 

The Ruffler Put “Jack” in Hugo’s Charge “ 148 

“There Is the Village, My Prince, and There Is the Hall 

Close By!” “ 200 

She Embraced His Leg, She Covered It with Kisses, She 
Cried, “O, My Child, My Darling!” 


244 



k 


I 



1 




Preface 


T WILL set down a tale as it was told to me by one who 
had it of his father, which latter had it of his father, this 
last having in like manner had it of his father — and so on, 
back and still back, three hundred years and more, the 
fathers transmitting it to the sons and so preserving it. 
It may be history, it may be only legend, a t^dition. It 
may have happened, it may not have happened: but it 
could have happened. It may be that the wise and the 
learned believed it in the old days; it may be that only the 
unlearned and the simple loved it and credited it. 


Hugh Latimer, Bishop of Worcester^ to Lord Cromwell, 07 i the 
birth of the Prince of Wales (afterward Edward VI.) 

FROM THE NATIONAL MANUSCRIPTS PRESERVED BY THE BRITISH 
GOVERNMENT 



Hugh Latimer, Bishop of Worcester , to Lord Cromwell, on the birth 
of the Prince of Wales (afterward Edward VI.) 

from the national manuscripts preserved by the BRITISH 

GOVERNMENT 

Ryght honorable, Salutem in Christo Jesu, and Syr here ys no lesse 
joynge and rejossynge in thes partees for the byrth of our prynce, 
hoom we hungurde for so longe, then ther was (I trow), inter vicinos att 
the byrth of S. I. Baptyste, as thys berer. Master Erance, can telle you. 
Code gyffe us alle grace, to yelde dew thankes to our Lorde Code, Code 
of Inglonde, for verely He hathe shoyd Hym selff Code of Inglonde, or 
rather an Inglyssh Code, yf we consydyr and pondyr welle alle Hys pro- 
cedynges with us from tyme to tyme. He hath overcumme alle our 
yllnesse with Hys excedynge goodnesse, so that we are now moor then 
compellyd to serve Hym, seke Hys glory, promott Hys wurde, yf the 
Devylle of alle Devylles be natt in us. We have now the stooppe of 
vayne trustes ande they stey of vayne expectations; lett us alle pray for 
hys preservatione. And I for my partt wylle wyssh that hys Grace 
allways have, and evyn now from the begynynge, Governares, Instruc- 
tores and off y ceres of ryght jugmente, ne optimum ingenium non 
optimd educatione depravetur. 

Butt whatt a grett fowlle am I! So, whatt devotione shoyth many 
tymys butt ly telle dyscretione ! Ande thus the Gode of Inglonde be ever 
with you in alle your procedynges. 

The 19 of October. 

Youres, H. L. B. of Wurcestere, now att Hartlebury. 

Yf you wolde excytt thys berere to be moore hartye ayen the abuse 
of ymagry or mor forwarde to promotte the veryte, ytt myght doo 
goode. Natt that ytt came of me, butt of your selff e, &c. 

(Addressed) To the Ryght Honorable Loorde P. Sealle hys synguler 
gode Lorde. 



I , 







t 

i 

I ■ 



The Prince and the Pauper 




\ 

) 


The Prince and the Pauper 


I 

THE BIRTH OF THE PRINCE AND THE PAUPER 

I N the ancient city of London, on a certain autumn day 
in the second quarter of the sixteenth century, a boy 
was born to a poor family of the name of Canty, who did 
not want him. On the same day another English child 
was born to a rich family of the name of Tudor, who did 
want him. All England wanted him too. England had 
so longed for him, and hoped for him, and prayed God 
for him, that, now that he was really come, the people 
went nearly mad for joy. Mere acquaintances hugged 
and kissed each other and cried. Everybody took a holi- 
day, and high and low, rich and poor, feasted and danced 
and sang, and got very mellow; and they kept this up 
for days and nights together. By day, London was a 
sight to see, with gay banners waving from every balcony 
and house-top, and splendid pageants marching along. By 
night, it was again a sight to see, with its great bonfires 
at every corner, and its troops of revelers making merry 

1 


The Prince and the Pauper 

around them. There was no talk in all England but of 
the new baby, Edward Tudor, Prince of Wales, who lay 
lapped in silks and satins, unconscious of all this fuss, and 
not knowing that great lords and ladies were tending him 
and watching over him — and not caring, either. But there 
was no talk about the other baby, Tom Canty, lapped in 
his poor rags, except among the family of paupers whom 
he had just come to trouble with his presence. 


II 


tom’s early life 

1 ET us skip a number of years. 

London was fifteen hundred years old, and was a 
great town — for that day. It had a hundred thousand 
inhabitants — some think double as many. The streets were 
very narrow, and crooked, and dirty, especially in the part 
where Tom Canty lived, which was not far from London 
Bridge. The houses were of wood, with the second story 
projecting over the first, and the third sticking its elbows 
out beyond the second. The higher the houses grew, the 
broader they grew. They were skeletons of strong criss- 
cross beams, with solid material between, coated with plas- 
ter. The beams were painted red or blue or black, accord- 
ing to the owner’s taste, and this gave the houses a very 
picturesque look. The windows were small, glazed with 
little diamond-shaped panes, and they opened outward, on 
hinges, like doors. 

The house which Tom’s father lived in was up a foul 
little pocket called Offal Court, out of Pudding Lane. It 
was small, decayed, and rickety, but it was packed full of 
wretchedly poor families. Canty’s tribe occupied a room 

3 


The Prince and the Pauper 

on the third floor. The mother and father had a sort of 
bedstead in the corner; but Tom, his grandmother, and 
his two sisters. Bet and Nan, were not restricted — they had 
all the floor to themselves, and might sleep where they 
chose. There were the remains of a blanket or two, and 
some bundles of ancient and dirty straw, but these could 
not rightly be called beds, for they were not organized; 
they were kicked into a general pile, mornings, and selec- 
tions made from the mass at night, for service. 

Bet and Nan were fifteen years old — twins. They were 
good-hearted girls, unclean, clothed in rags, and profoundly 
ignorant. Their mother was like them. But the father 
and the grandmother were a couple of fiends. They got 
drunk whenever they could; then they fought each other 
or anybody else who came in the way; they cursed and 
swore always, drunk or sober; John Canty was a thief, and 
his mother a beggar. They made beggars of the children, 
but failed to make thieves of them. Among, but not of, 
the dreadful rabble that inhabited the house was a good 
old priest whom the king had turned out of house and 
home with a pension of a few farthings, and he used to get 
the children aside and teach them right ways secretly. 
Father Andrew also taught Tom a little Latin, and how to 
read and write; and would have done the same with the 
girls, but they were afraid of the jeers of their friends, who 
could not have endured such a queer accomplishment in 
them. 

All Offal Court was just such another hive as Canty’s 
4 


The Prince and the Pauper 

house. Drunkenness, riot, and brawling were the order, 
there, every night and nearly all night long. Broken heads 
were as common as hunger in that place. Yet little Tom 
was not unhappy. He had a hard time of it, but did not 
know it. It was the sort of time that all the Offal Court 
boys had, therefore he supposed it was the correct and com- 
fortable thing. When he came home empty-handed at 
night, he knew his father would curse him and thrash him 
first, and that when he was done the awful grandmother 
would do it all over again and improve on it; and that away 
in the night his starving mother would slip to him stealthily 
with any miserable scrap or crust she had been able to save 
for him by going hungry herself, notwithstanding she was 
often caught in that sort of treason and soundly beaten for 
it by her husband. 

No, Tom’s life went along well enough, especially in 
summer. He only begged just enough to save himself, for 
the laws against mendicancy were stringent, and the pen- 
alties heavy; so he put in a good deal of his time listening 
to good Father Andrew’s charming old tales and legends 
about giants and fairies, dwarfs, and genii, and enchanted 
castles, and gorgeous kings and princes. His head grew to 
be full of these wonderful things, and many a night as he 
lay in the dark on his scant and offensive straw, tired, hun- 
gry, smarting from a thrashing, he unleashed his imagi- 
nation and soon forgot his aches and pains in delicious 
picturings to himself of the charmed life of a petted prince 
in a regal palace. One desire came in time to haunt him 

5 


The Prince and the Pauper 

day and night: it was to see a real prince, with his own 
eyes. He spoke of it once to some of his Offal Court com- 
rades; but they jeered him and scoffed him so unmercifully 
that he was glad to keep his dream to himself after that. 

He often read the priest’s old books and got him to 
explain and enlarge upon them. His dreamings and read- 
ings worked certain changes in him, by and by. His dream- 
people were so fine that he grew to lament his shabby 
clothing and his dirt, and to wish to be clean and better 
clad. He went on playing in the mud just the same, and 
enjoying it, too; but instead of splashing around in the 
Thames solely for the fun of it, he began to find an added 
value in it because of the washings and cleansings it 
afforded. 

Tom could always find something going on around the 
Maypole in Cheapside, and at the fairs; and now and then 
he and the rest of London had a chance to see a military 
parade when some famous unfortunate was carried prisoner 
to the Tower, by land or boat. One summer’s day he saw 
poor Anne Askew and three men burned at the stake in 
Smithfield, and heard an ex-bishop preach a sermon to 
them which did not interest him. Yes, Tom’s life was 
varied and pleasant enough, on the whole. 

By and by Tom’s reading and dreaming about princely 
life wrought such a strong effect upon him that he began 
to act the prince, unconsciously. His speech and manners 
became curiously ceremonious and courtly, to the vast ad- 
miration and amusement of his intimates. But Tom’s in- 


The Prince and the Pauper 

fluence among these young people began to grow, now, 
day by day; and in time he came to be looked up to, by 
them, with a sort of wondering awe, as a superior being. 
He seemed to know so much! and he could do and say 
such marvelous things! and withal, he was so deep and 
wise! Tom’s remarks, and Tom’s performances, were re- 
ported by the boys to their elders ; and these, also, presently 
began to discuss Tom Canty, and to regard him as a most 
gifted and extraordinary creature. Full-grown people 
brought their perplexities to Tom for solution, and were 
often astonished at the wit and wisdom of his decisions. 
In fact he was become a hero to all who knew him except 
his own family — these, only, saw nothing in him. 

Privately, after a while, Tom organized a royal court! 
He was the prince; his special comrades were guards, cham- 
berlains, equerries, lords and ladies in waiting, and the 
royal family. Daily the mock prince was received with 
elaborate ceremonials borrowed by Tom from his romantic 
readings; daily the great affairs of the mimic kingdom 
were discussed in the royal council, and daily his mimic 
highness issued decrees to his imaginary armies, navies, and 
viceroyalties. 

After which, he would go forth in his rags and beg a 
few farthings, eat his poor crust, take his customary cuffs 
and abuse, and then stretch himself upon his handful 
of foul straw, and resume his empty grandeurs in his 
dreams. 

And still his desire to look just once upon a real prince, 
7 


The Prince and the Pauper 

in the flesh, grew upon him, day by day, and week by week, 
until at last it absorbed all other desires, and became the 
one passion of his life. 

One January day, on his usual begging tour, he tramped 
despondently up and down the region round about Mincing 
Lane and Little East Cheap, hour after hour, barefooted 
and cold, looking in at cook-shop windows and longing for 
the dreadful pork-pies and other deadly inventions dis- 
played there — for to him these were dainties fit for the 
angels; that is, judging by the smell, they were — for it 
had never been his good luck to own and eat one. There 
was a cold drizzle of rain; the atmosphere was murky; 
it was a melancholy day. At night Tom reached home so 
wet and tired and hungry that it was not possible for his 
father and grandmother to observe his forlorn condition 
and not be moved — after their fashion; wherefore they gave 
him a cuffing at once and sent him to bed. For a long 
time his pain and hunger, and the swearing and fighting 
going on in the building, kept him awake; but at last his 
thoughts drifted away to far, romantic lands, and he fell 
asleep in the company of jeweled and gilded princelings 
who lived in vast palaces, and had servants salaaming be- 
fore them or flying to execute their orders. And then, as 
usual, he dreamed that he was a princeling himself. 

All night long the glories of his royal estate shone upon 
him; he moved among great lords and ladies, in a blaze of 
light, breathing perfumes, drinking in delicious music, and 
answering the reverent obeisances of the glittering throng 

8 


The Prince and the Pauper 

as it parted to make way for him, with here a smile, and 
there a nod of his princely head. 

And when he awoke in the morning and looked upon 
the wretchedness about him, his dream had had its usual 
effect — it had intensified the sordidness of his surroundings 
a thousandfold. Then came bitterness, and heartbreak, 
and tears. 


Ill 


tom’s meeting with the prince 

T om got up hungry, and sauntered hungry away, but 
with his thoughts busy with the shadowy splendors 
of his night’s dreams. He wandered here and there in the 
city, hardly noticing where he was going, or what was hap- 
pening around him. People jostled him and some gave 
him rough speech; but it was all lost on the musing boy. 
By and by he found himself at Temple Bar, the farthest 
from home he had ever traveled in that direction. He 
stopped and considered a moment, then fell into his im- 
aginings again, and passed on outside the walls of London. 
The Strand had ceased to be a country road then, and re- 
garded itself as a street, but by a strained construction; 
for, though there was a tolerably compact row of houses 
on one side of it, there were only some scattering great 
buildings on the other, these being palaces of rich nobles, 
with ample and beautiful grounds stretching to the river — 
grounds that are now closely packed with grim acres of 
brick and stone. 

Tom discovered Charing Village presently, and rested 
himself at the beautiful cross built there by a bereaved 

10 


The Prince and the Pauper 

king of earlier days; then idled down a quiet, lovely road, 
past the great cardinal’s stately palace, toward a far more 
mighty and majestic palace beyond — Westminster. Tom 
stared in glad wonder at the vast pile of masonry, the wide- 
spreading wings, the frowning bastions and turrets, the 
huge stone gateway, with its gilded bars and its magnificent 
array of colossal granite lions, and the other signs and 
symbols of English royalty. Was the desire of his soul to 
be satisfied at last? Here, indeed, was a king’s palace. 
Might he not hope to see a prince now — a prince of flesh 
and blood, if Heaven were willing? 

At each side of the gilded gate stood a living statue, 
that is to say, an erect and stately and motionless man- 
at-arms, clad from head to heel in shining steel armor. At 
a respectful distance were many country-folk, and people 
from the city, waiting for any chance glimpse of royalty 
that might offer. Splendid carriages, with splendid people 
in them and splendid servants outside, were arriving and 
departing by several other noble gateways that pierced 
the royal inclosure. 

Poor little Tom, in his rags, approached, and was moving 
slowly and timidly past the sentinels, with a beating heart 
and a rising hope, when all at once he caught sight through 
the golden bars of a spectacle that almost made him shout 
for joy. Within was a comely boy, tanned and brown with 
sturdy outdoor sports and exercises, whose clothing was 
all of lovely silks and satins, shining with jewels; at his 
hip a little jeweled sword and dagger; dainty buskins on 

11 


The Prince and the Pauper 

his feet, with red heels; and on his head a jaunty crimson 
cap, with drooping plumes fastened with a great sparkling 
gem. Several gorgeous gentlemen stood near — his ser- 
vants, without a doubt. Oh! he was a prince — a prince, 
a living prince, a real prince — without the shadow of a 
question; and the prayer of the pauper boy’s heart was 
answered at last. 

Tom’s breath came quick and short with excitement, 
and his eyes grew big with wonder and delight. Every- 
thing gave way in his mind instantly to one desire: that 
was to get close to the prince, and have a good, devouring 
look at him. Before he knew what he was about, he had 
his face against the gate-bars. The next instant one of the 
soldiers snatched him rudely away, and sent him spinning 
among the gaping crowd of country gawks and London 
idlers. The soldier said : 

“Mind thy manners, thou young beggar!” 

The crowd jeered and laughed; but the young prince 
sprang to the gate with his face flushed, and his eyes flash- 
ing with indignation, and cried out: 

“How dar’st thou use a poor lad like that! How dar’st 
thou use the king my father’s meanest subject so! Open 
the gates, and let him in!” 

You should have seen that fickle crowd snatch off their 
hats then. You should have heard them cheer, and shout, 
“Long live the Prince of Wales!” 

The soldiers presented arms with their halberds, opened 
the gates, and presented again as the little Prince of Poverty 


The Prince and the Pauper 

passed in, in his fluttering rags, to join hands with the Prince 
of Limitless Plenty. 

Edward Tudor said: 

“Thou lookest tired and hungry: thou’st been treated 
ill. Come with me.” 

Half a dozen attendants sprang forward to — I don’t 
know what; interfere, no doubt. But they were waved 
aside with a royal gesture, and they stopped stock still 
where they were, like so many statues. Edward took Tom 
to a rich apartment in the palace, which he called his 
cabinet. By his command a repast was brought such as 
Tom had never encountered before except in books. The 
prince, with princely delicacy and breeding, sent away the 
servants, so that his humble guest might not be embar- 
rassed by their critical presence; then he sat near by, and 
asked questions while Tom ate. 

“What is thy name, lad?” 

“Tom Canty, an it please thee, sir.” 

“ ’Tis an odd one. Where dost live?” 

“In the city, please thee, sir. Offal Court, out of Pud- 
ding Lane.” 

“Offal Court! Truly, ’tis another odd one. Hast par- 
ents?” 

“Parents have I, sir, and a granddam likewise that is 
but indifferently precious to me, God forgive me if it be 
offense to say it — also twin sisters. Nan and Bet.” 

“Then is thy granddam not overkind to thee, I 
take it.” 


13 


The Prince and the Pauper 

‘‘Neither to any other is she, so please your worship. 
She hath a wicked heart, and worketh evil all her days.” 

“Doth she mistreat thee?” 

“There be times that she stayeth her hand, being asleep 
or overcome with drink; but when she hath her judgment 
clear again, she maketh it up to me with goodly beatings.” 

A fierce look came into the little prince’s eyes, and he 
cried out: 

“What! Beatings?” 

“Oh, indeed, yes, please you, sir.” 

Beatings ! — and thou so frail and little. Hark ye: be- 
fore the night come, she shall hie her to the Tower. The 
king my father — ” 

“In sooth, you forget, sir, her low degree. The Tower 
is for the great alone.” 

“True, indeed. I had not thought of that. I will 
consider of her punishment. Is thy father kind to thee?” 

“Not more than Gammer Canty, sir.” 

“Fathers be alike, mayhap. Mine hath not a doll’s 
temper. He smiteth with a heavy hand, yet spareth me: 
he spareth me not always with his tongue, though, sooth 
to say. How doth thy mother use thee?” 

“She is good, sir, and giveth me neither sorrow nor pain 
of any sort. And Nan and Bet are like to her in this.” 

“How old be these.?'” 

“Fifteen, an it please you, sir.” 

“The Lady Elizabeth, my sister, is fourteen, and the 
Lady Jane Grey, my cousin, is of mine own age, and comely 

14 


The Prince and the Pauper 

and gracious withal; but my sister the Lady Mary, with 
her gloomy mien and — Look you: do thy sisters for- 
bid their servants to smile, lest the sin destroy their 
souls?” 

“They? Oh, dost think, sir, that they have ser- 
vants?” 

The little prince contemplated the little pauper gravely 
a moment, then said: 

“And prithee, why not? Who helpeth them undress 
at night? who attireth them when they rise?” 

“None, sir. Wouldst have them take off their garment, 
and sleep without — like the beasts?” 

“Their garment! Have they but one?” 

“Ah, good your worship, what would they do with 
more? Truly they have not two bodies each.” 

“It is a quaint and marvelous thought! Thy pardon, 
I had not meant to laugh. But thy good Nan and thy 
Bet shall have raiment and lackeys enow, and that soon, 
too: my cofferer shall look to it. No, thank me not; ’tis 
nothing. Thou speakest well; thou hast an easy grace in 
it. Art learned?” 

“I know not if I am or not, sir. The good priest that is 
called Father Andrew taught me, of his kindness, from his 
books.” 

“Know’st thou the Latin?” 

“But scantly, sir, I doubt.” 

“Learn it, lad: ’tis hard only at first. The Greek is 
harder; but neither these nor any tongues else, I think. 


The Prince and the Pauper 

are hard to the Lady Elizabeth and my cousin. Thou 
shouldst hear those damsels at it ! But tell me of thy Offal 
Court. Hast thou a pleasant life there.^^” 

“In truth, yes, so please you, sir, save when one is 
hungry. There be Punch-and-Judy shows, and monkeys 
— oh, such antic creatures! and so bravely dressed! — and 
there be plays wherein they that play do shout and fight 
till all are slain, and ’tis so fine to see, and costeth but a 
farthing — albeit ’tis main hard to get the farthing please 
your worship.” 

“Tell me more.” 

“We lads of Offal Court do strive against each other 
with the cudgel, like to the fashion of the ’prentices, some 
times.” 

The prince’s eyes flashed. Said he: 

“Marry, that would I not mislike. Tell me more.” 

“We strive in races, sir, to see who of us shall be 
fleetest.” 

“That would I like also. Speak on.” 

“In summer, sir, we wade and swim in the canals and in 
the river, and each doth duck his neighbor, and spatter him 
with water, and dive and shout and tumble and — ” 

“ ’Twould be worth my father’s kingdom but to enjoy 
it once! Prithee go on.” 

“We dance and sing about the Maypole in Cheap- 
side; we play in the sand, each covering his neighbor 
up; and times we make mud pastry — oh, the lovely 
mud, it hath not its like for delightfulness in all the 
16 



THE TWO WENT AND STOOD SIDE BY SIDE BEFORE A GREAT MIRROR, AND LO, A 

MIRACLE ! 





1 

I 

I 

I 



The Prince and the Pauper 

world ! — we do fairly wallow in the mud, sir, saving your 
worship’s presence.” 

“Oh, prithee, say no more, ’tis glorious! If that I could 
but clothe me in raiment like to thine, and strip my feet, 
and revel in the mud once, just once, with none to rebuke 
me or forbid, meseemeth I could forego the crown!” 

“And if that I could clothe me once, sweet sir, as thou 
art clad — just once — ” 

“Oho, wouldst like it? Then so shall it be. Doff thy 
rags, and don these splendors, lad! It is a brief happiness, 
but will be not less keen for that. We will have it while 
we may, and change again before any come to molest.” 

A few minutes later the little Prince of Wales was gar- 
landed with Tom’s fluttering odds and ends, and the little 
Prince of Pauperdom was tricked out in the gaudy plumage 
of royalty. The two went and stood side by side before a 
great mirror, and lo, a miracle: there did not seem to have 
been any change made! They stared at each other, then 
at the glass, then at each other again. At last the puzzled 
princeling said: 

“What dost thou make of this?” 

“Ah, good your worship, require me not to answer. 
It is not meet that one of my degree should utter the thing.” 

“Then will I utter it. Thou hast the same hair, the 
same eyes, the same voice and manner, the same form and 
stature, the same face and countenance, that I bear. Fared 
we forth naked, there is none could say which was you, and 
which the Prince of Wales. And, now that I am clothed 

17 


The Prince and the Pauper 

as thou wert clothed, it seemeth I should be able the more 
nearly to feel as thou didst when the brute soldier — Hark 
ye, is not this a bruise upon your hand?” 

‘‘Yes; but it is a slight thing, and your worship knoweth 
that the poor man-at-arms — ” 

“Peace! It was a shameful thing and a cruel!” cried 
the little prince, stamping his bare foot. “If the king — 
Stir not a step till I come again! It is a command!” 

In a moment he had snatched up and put away an 
article of national importance that lay upon a table, and 
was out at the door and flying through the palace grounds 
in his bannered rags, with a hot face and glowing eyes. 
As soon as he reached the great gate, he seized the bars, 
and tried to shake them, shouting: 

“Open! Unbar the gates!” 

The soldier that had maltreated Tom obeyed promptly; 
and as the prince burst through the portal, half smothered 
with royal wrath, the soldier fetched him a sounding box 
on the ear that sent him whirling to the roadway, and said: 

“Take that, thou beggar’s spawn, for what thou got’st 
me from his Highness!” 

The crowd roared with laughter. The prince picked 
himself out of the mud, and made flercely at the sentry, 
shouting: 

“I am the Prince of Wales, my person is sacred; and 
thou shalt hang for laying thy hand upon me!” 

The soldier brought his halberd to a present-arms and 
said mockingly: 


18 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“I salute your gracious Highness/’ Then angrily, “Be 
off, thou crazy rubbish!” 

Here the jeering crowd closed around the poor little 
prince, and hustled him far down the road, hooting him, 
and shouting, “Way for his royal Highness! way for the 
Prince of Wales!” 


IV 


THE prince’s troubles BEGIN 

A fter hours of persistent pursuit and persecution, 
^ the little prince was at last deserted by the rabble 
and left to himself. As long as he had been able to rage 
against the mob, and threaten it royally, and royally utter 
commands that were good stuflP to laugh at, he was very 
entertaining; but when weariness finally forced him to be 
silent, he was no longer of use to his tormentors, and they 
sought amusement elsewhere. He looked about him, now, 
but could not recognize the locality. He was within the 
city of London — that was all he knew. He moved on, aim- 
lessly, and in a little while the houses thinned, and the 
passers-by were infrequent. He bathed his bleeding feet 
in the brook which flowed then where Farringdon Street 
now is; rested a few moments, then passed on, and pres- 
ently came upon a great space with only a few scattered 
houses in it, and a prodigious church. He recognized this 
church. Scaffoldings were about, everywhere, and swarms 
of workmen; for it was undergoing elaborate repairs. The 
prince took heart at once — he felt that his troubles were at 
an end now. He said to himself, “It is the ancient Grey 
Friars’ church, which the king my father hath taken from 

20 


The Prince and the Pauper 

the monks and given for a home forever for poor and for- 
saken children, and new-named it Christ’s Church. Right 
gladly will they serve the son of him who hath done so 
generously by them — and the more that that son is him- 
self as poor and as forlorn as any that be sheltered here this 
day, or ever shall be.” 

He was soon in the midst of a crowd of boys who were 
running, jumping, playing at ball and leap-frog and other- 
wise disporting themselves, and right noisily, too. They 
were all dressed alike, and in the fashion which in that 
day prevailed among serving-men and ’prentices^ — that is 
to say, each had on the crown of his head a flat black cap 
about the size of a saucer, which was not useful as a cover- 
ing, it being of such scanty dimensions, neither was it 
ornamental; from beneath it the hair fell, unparted, to 
the middle of the forehead, and was cropped straight 
around; a clerical band at the neck; a blue gown that 
fitted closely and hung as low as the knees or lower; full 
sleeves, a broad red belt; bright yellow stockings, gartered 
above the knees; low shoes with large metal buckles. It 
was a sufficiently ugly costume. 

The boys stopped their play and flocked about the 
prince, who said with native dignity: 

‘‘Good lads, say to your master that Edward Prince 
of Wales desireth speech with him.” 

A great shout went up, at this, and one rude fellow said : 

“Marry, art thou his grace’s messenger, beggar 

1 See Note 1, at end of the volume. 

21 


The Prince and the Pauper 

The prince’s face flushed with anger, and his ready hand 
flew to his hip, but there was nothing there. There was a 
storm of laughter, and one boy said: 

‘‘Didst mark that.^ He fancied he had a sword — 
belike he is the prince himself.” 

This sally brought more laughter. Poor Edward drew 
himself up proudly and said: 

“I am the prince; and it ill beseemeth you that feed 
upon the king my father’s bounty to use me so ” 

This was vastly enjoyed, as the laughter testified. The 
youth who had first spoken, shouted to his comrades: 

“Ho, swine, slaves, pensioners of his grace’s princely 
father, where be your manners? Down on your marrow 
bones, all of ye, and do reverence to his kingly port and 
royal rags!” 

With boisterous mirth they dropped upon their knees 
in a body and did mock homage to their prey. The prince 
'Spurned the nearest boy with his foot, and said fiercely: 

“Take thou that, till the morrow come and I build thee 
a gibbet!” 

Ah, but this was not a joke — this was going beyond fun. 
The laughter ceased on the instant, and fury took its place. 
A dozen shouted: 

“Hale him forth! To the horse-pond, to the horse- 
pond! Where be the dogs? Ho, there. Lion! ho. Fangs!” 

Then followed such a thing as England had never seen 
before — the sacred person of the heir to the throne rudely 
buffeted by plebeian hands, and set upon and torn by dogs. 

22 


The Prince and the Pauper 

As night drew to a close that day, the prince found 
himself far down in the close-built portion of the city. His 
body was bruised, his hands were bleeding, and his rags 
were all besmirched with mud. He wandered on and on, 
and grew more and more bewildered, and so tired and faint 
he could hardly drag one foot after the other. He had 
ceased to ask questions of any one, since they brought him 
only insult instead of information. He kept muttering to 
himself, ‘‘Offal Court — that is the name; if I can but find 
it before my strength is wholly spent and I drop, then am 
I saved — for his people will take me to the palace and 
prove that I am none of theirs, but the true prince, and I 
shall have mine own again.” And now and then his mind 
reverted to his treatment by those rude Christ’s Hospital 
boys, and he said, “When I am king, they shall not have 
bread and shelter only, but also teachings out of books; 
for a full belly is little worth where the mind is starved, 
and the heart. I will keep this diligently in my remem- 
brance, that this day’s lesson be not lost upon me, and my 
people suffer thereby; for learning softeneth the heart and 
breedeth gentleness and charity.”^ 

The lights began to twinkle, it came on to rain, the wind 
rose, and a raw and gusty night set in. The houseless 
prince, the homeless heir to the throne of England, still 
moved on, drifting deeper into the maze of squalid alleys 
where the swarming hives of poverty and misery were 
massed together. 

1 See Note 2, at end of the volume. 

23 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Suddenly a great drunken ruffian collared him and said: 

“Out to this time of night again, and hast not brought 
a farthing home, I warrant me! If it be so, an I do not 
break all the bones in thy lean body, then am I not John 
Canty, but some other.’’ 

The prince twisted himself loose, unconsciously brushed 
his profaned shoulder, and eagerly said: 

“Oh, art his father, truly Sweet Heaven grant it be 
so — then wilt thou fetch him away and restore me!” 

^^His father.f^ I know not what thou mean’st; I but 
know I am thy father, as thou shalt soon have cause to — ” 

“Oh, jest not, palter not, delay not! — I am worn, I am 
wounded, I can bear no more. Take me to the king my 
father, and he will make thee rich beyond thy wildest 
dreams. Believe me, man, believe me! — I speak no lie, 
but only the truth! — ^put forth thy hand and save me! I 
am indeed the Prince of Wales!” 

The man stared down, stupefied, upon the lad, then 
shook his head and muttered: 

“Gone stark mad as any Tom o’ Bedlam!” — then col- 
lared him once more, and said with a coarse laugh and an 
oath, “But mad or no mad, I and thy Gammer Canty will 
soon find where the soft places in thy bones lie, or I’m no 
true man!” 

With this he dragged the frantic and struggling prince 
away, and disappeared up a front court followed by a de- 
lighted and noisy swarm of human vermin. 


V 


TOM AS A PATRICIAN 

T om canty, left alone in the prince’s cabinet, made 
good use of his opportunity. He turned himself this 
way and that before the great mirror, admiring his finery; 
then walked away, imitating the prince’s high-bred carriage, 
and still observing results in the glass. Next he drew the 
beautiful sword, and bowed, kissing the blade, and laying 
it across his breast, as he had seen a noble knight do, by 
way of salute to the lieutenant of the Tower, five or six 
weeks before, when delivering the great lords of Norfolk 
and Surrey into his hands for captivity. Tom played with 
the jeweled dagger that hung upon his thigh; he examined 
the costly and exquisite ornaments of the room; he tried 
each of the sumptuous chairs, and thought how proud he 
would be if the Offal Court herd could only peep in and 
see him in his grandeur. He wondered if they would be- 
lieve the marvelous tale he should tell when he got home, 
or if they would shake their heads, and say his overtaxed 
imagination had at last upset his reason. 

At the end of half an hour it suddenly occurred to him 
that the prince was gone a long time; then right away he 
began to feel lonely; very soon he fell to listening and long- 

25 


The Prince and the Pauper 

ing, and ceased to toy with the pretty things about him; 
he grew uneasy, then restless, then distressed. Suppose 
some one should come, and catch him in the prince’s 
clothes, and the prince not there to explain. Might they 
not hang him at once, and inquire into his case afterward.^ 
He had heard that the great were prompt about small 
matters. His fears rose higher and higher; and trembling 
he softly opened the door to the antechamber, resolved to 
fly and seek the prince, and, through him, protection and 
release. Six gorgeous gentlemen-servants and two young 
pages of high degree, clothed like butterflies, sprung to 
their feet, and bowed low before him. He stepped quickly 
back, and shut the door. He said: 

‘‘Oh, they mock at me! They will go and tell. Oh! 
why came I here to cast away my life?” 

He walked up and down the floor, filled with nameless 
fears, listening, starting at every trifling sound. Presently 
the door swung open, and a silken page said: 

“The Lady Jane Grey.” 

The door closed, and a sweet young girl, richly clad, 
bounded toward him. But she stopped suddenly, and 
said in a distressed voice : 

“Oh, what aileth thee, my lord?” 

Tom’s breath was nearly failing him; but he made shift 
to stammer out: 

“Ah, be merciful, thou! In sooth I am no lord, but only 
poor Tom Canty of Offal Court in the city. Prithee let 
me see the prince, and he will of his grace restore to me 

26 


The Prince and the Pauper 

my rags, and let me hence unhurt. Oh, be thou merciful, 
and save me!” 

By this time the boy was on his knees, and suppli- 
cating with his eyes and uplifted hands as well as with his 
tongue. The young girl seemed horror-stricken. She 
cried out: 

‘‘Oh, my lord, on thy knees? — and to mer 

Then she fled away in fright; and Tom, smitten with 
despair, sank down, murmuring: 

“There is no help, there is no hope. Now will they 
come and take me.” 

Whilst he lay there benumbed with terror, dreadful 
tidings were speeding through the palace. The whisper, 
for it was whispered always, flew from menial to menial, 
from lord to lady, down all the long corridors, from story 
to story, from saloon to saloon, “The prince hath gone 
mad, the prince hath gone mad!” Soon every saloon, every 
marble hall, had its groups of glittering lords and ladies, 
and other groups of dazzling lesser folk, talking earnestly 
together in whispers, and every face had in it dismay. 
Presently a splendid official came marching by these groups, 
making solemn proclamation: 

“In the Name of the King. 

Let none list to this false and foolish matter, upon pain 
of death, nor discuss the same, nor carry it abroad. In 
the name of the king!” 

The whisperings ceased as suddenly as if the whisperers 
had been stricken dumb. 


27 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Soon there was a general buzz along the corridors, of 
‘‘The prince! See, the prince comes!” 

Poor Tom came slowly walking past the low-bowing 
groups, trying to bow in return, and meekly gazing upon 
his strange surroundings with bewildered and pathetic eyes. 
Great nobles walked upon each side of him, making him 
lean upon them, and so steady his steps. Behind him fol- 
lowed the court physicians and some servants. 

Presently Tom found himself in a noble apartment of 
the palace, and heard the door close behind him. Around 
him stood those who had come with him. 

Before him, at a little distance, reclined a very large 
and very fat man, with a wide, pulpy face, and a stern 
expression. His large head was very gray; and his whisk- 
ers, which he wore only around his face, like a frame, were 
gray also. His clothing was of rich stuff, but old, and 
slightly frayed in places. One of his swollen legs had a 
pillow under it, and was wrapped in bandages. There was 
silence now; and there was no head there but was bent in 
reverence except this man’s. This stern-countenanced in- 
valid was the dread Henry VIII. He said — and his face 
grew gentle as he began to speak: 

“How now, my lord Edward, my prince? Hast been 
minded to cozen me, the good king thy father, who loveth 
thee, and kindly useth thee, with a sorry jest?” 

Poor Tom was listening, as well as his dazed faculties 
would let him, to the beginning of this speech ; but when 
the words “me the good king” fell upon his ear, his face 

28 


The Prince and the Pauper 

blanched, and he dropped as instantly upon his knees as 
if a shot had brought him there. Lifting up his hands, he 
exclaimed: 

“Thou the king? Then am I undone indeed!” 

This speech seemed to stun the king. His eyes wan- 
dered from face to face aimlessly, then rested, bewildered, 
upon the boy before him. Then he said in a tone of deep 
disappointment: 

“Alack, I had believed the rumor disproportioned to 
the truth; but I fear me ’tis not so.” He breathed a heavy 
sigh, and said in a gentle voice, “Come to thy father, child: 
thou art not well.” 

Tom was assisted to his feet, and approached the Maj- 
esty of England, humble and trembling. The king took 
the frightened face between his hands, and gazed earnestly 
and lovingly into it awhile, as if seeking some grateful sign 
of returning reason there, then pressed the curly head 
against his breast, and patted it tenderly. Presently he 
said: 

“Dost thou know thy father, child.^ Break not mine 
old heart; say thou know’st me. Thou know me, dost 
thou not?” 

“Yea; thou art my dread lord the king, whom God 
preserve!” 

“True, true — that is well — be comforted, tremble not 
so; there is none here who would hurt thee; there is none 
here but loves thee. Thou art better now; thy ill dream 
passeth — is’t not so? And thou knowest thyself now also — 


The Prince and the Pauper 

is’t not so? Thou wilt not miscall thyself again, as they 
say thou didst a little while agone?” 

‘‘I pray thee of thy grace believe me, I did but speak 
the truth, most dread lord; for I am the meanest among 
thy subjects, being a pauper born, and ’tis by a sore mis- 
chance and accident I am here, albeit I was therein nothing 
blameful. I am but young to die, and thou canst save me 
with one little word. Oh, speak it, sir!” 

"‘Die? Talk not so, sweet prince — peace, peace, to thy 
troubled heart — thou shalt not die!” 

Tom dropped upon his knees with a glad cry: 

"‘God requite thy mercy, oh my king, and save thee 
long to bless thy land!” Then springing up, he turned a 
joyful face toward the two lords in waiting, and exclaimed, 
“Thou heard’st it! I am not to die: the king hath said 
it!” There was no movement, save that all bowed with 
grave respect; but no one spoke. He hesitated, a little 
confused, then turned timidly toward the king, saying, “I 
may go now?” 

“Go? Surely, if thou desirest. But why not tarry yet 
a little? Whither wouldst go?” 

Tom dropped his eyes, and answered humbly: 

“Perad venture I mistook; but I did think me free, and 
so was I moved to seek again the kennel where I was born 
and bred to misery, yet which harboreth my mother and 
my sisters, and so is home to me; whereas these pomps and 
splendors whereunto I am not used — oh, please you, sir, to 
let me go!” 


30 


The Prince and the Pauper 

The king was silent and thoughtful awhile, and his face 
betrayed a growing distress and uneasiness. Presently 
he said, with something of hope in his voice: 

‘‘Perchance he is but mad upon this one strain, and 
hath his wits unmarred as toucheth other matter. God 
send it may be so! We will make trial.” 

Then he asked Tom a question in Latin, and Tom an- 
swered him lamely in the same tongue. The king was 
delighted, and showed it. The lords and doctors manifested 
their gratification also. The king said: 

“’Twas not according to his schooling and ability, but 
sheweth that his mind is but diseased, not stricken fatally. 
How say you, sir?” 

The physician addressed bowed low, and replied: 

“It jumpeth with mine own conviction, sire, that thou 
hast divined aright.” 

The king looked pleased with this encouragement, com- 
ing as it did from so excellent authority, and continued with 
good heart: 

“Now mark ye all: we will try him further.” 

He put a question to Tom in French. Tom stood silent 
a moment, embarrassed by having so many eyes centered 
upon him, then said diffidently: 

“I have no knowledge of this tongue, so please your 
majesty.” 

The king fell back upon his couch. The attendants 
flew to his assistance; but he put them aside, and said: 
“Trouble me not — it is nothing but a scurvy faintness. 
31 


3 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Raise me! there, ’tis sufficient. Come hither, child; there, 
rest thy poor troubled head upon thy father’s heart, and 
be at peace. Thou’lt soon be well ; ’tis but a passing fantasy. 
Fear thou not; thou’lt soon be well.” Then he turned 
toward the company; his gentle manner changed, and bale- 
ful lightnings began to play from his eyes. He said: 

‘‘List ye all! This my son is mad; but it is not perma- 
nent. Overstudy hath done this, and somewhat too much 
of confinement. Away with his books and teachers! see 
ye to it. Pleasure him with sports, beguile him in whole- 
some ways, so that his health come again.” He raised him- 
self higher still, and went on with energy. “He is mad; 
but he is my son, and England’s heir; and, mad or sane, 
still shall he reign! And hear ye further, and proclaim it: 
whoso speaketh of this his distemper worketh against the 
peace and order of these realms, and shall to the gallows! 
. . . Give me to drink — I burn: This sorrow sappeth my 
strength. . . . There, take away the cup. . . . Support me. 
There, that is well. Mad, is he.^ Were he a thousand times 
mad, yet is he Prince of Wales, and I the king will confirm 
it. This very morrow shall he be installed in his princely 
dignity in due and ancient form. Take instant order for 
it, my Lord Hertford.” 

One of the nobles knelt at the royal couch, and said: 

“The king’s majesty knoweth that the Hereditary Great 
Marshal of England lieth attainted in the Tower. It were 
not meet that one attainted — ” 

“Peace! Insult not mine ears with his hated name. 

32 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Is this man to live forever? Am I to be balked of my will? 
Is the prince to tarry uninstalled, because, forsooth, the 
realm lacketh an earl marshal free of treasonable taint to 
invest him with his honors? No, by the splendor of God! 
Warn my Parliament to bring me Norfolk’s doom before 
the sun rise again, else shall they answer for it grievously!”^ 

Lord Hertford said: 

‘‘The king’s will is law”; and, rising, returned to his 
former place. 

Gradually the wrath faded out of the old king’s face, 
and he said: 

“Kiss me, my prince. There . . . what fearest thou? 
Am I not thy loving father?” 

“Thou art good to me that am unworthy, O mighty 
and gracious lord: that in truth I know. But — but — it 
grieveth me to think of him that is to die, and — ” 

“Ah, ’tis like thee, ’tis like thee! I know thy heart is 
still the same, even though thy mind hath suffered hurt, 
for thou wert ever of a gentle spirit. But this duke standeth 
between thee and thine honors: I will have another in his 
stead that shall bring no taint to his great office. Comfort 
thee, my prince: trouble not thy poor head with this 
matter.” 

“But is it not I that speed him hence, my liege? How 
long might he not live, but for me?” 

“Take no thought of him, my prince: he is not worthy. 
Kiss me once again, and go to thy trifles and amusements; 

1 See Note 3, at end of the volume. 

33 


The Prince and the Pauper 

for my malady distresseth me. I am aweary, and would 
rest. Go with thine uncle Hertford and thy people, and 
come again when my body is refreshed.” 

Tom, heavy-hearted, was conducted from the presence, 
for this last sentence was a death-blow to the hope he had 
cherished that now he would be set free. Once more he 
heard the buzz of low voices exclaiming, ‘‘The prince, the 
prince comes!” 

His spirits sank lower and lower as he moved between 
the glittering files of bowing courtiers; for he recognized 
that he was indeed a captive now, and might remain forever 
shut up in this gilded cage, a forlorn and friendless prince, 
except God in His mercy take pity on him and set him free. 

And, turn where he would, he seemed to see floating 
in the air the severed head and the remembered face of the 
great Duke of Norfolk, the eyes fixed on him reproachfully. 

His old dreams had been so pleasant; but this reality 
was so dreary! 


VI 


TOM RECEIVES INSTRUCTIONS 

T om was conducted to the principal apartment of a 
noble suite, and made to sit down — a thing which he 
was loath to do, since there were elderly men and men of 
high degree about him. He begged them to be seated, also, 
but they only bowed their thanks or murmured them, and 
remained standing. He would have insisted, but his 
‘‘uncle” the Earl of Hertford whispered in his ear: 

“Prithee, insist not, my lord; it is not meet that they 
sit in thy presence.” 

The Lord St. John was announced, and after making 
obeisance to Tom, he said: 

“I come upon the king’s errand, concerning a matter 
which requireth privacy. Will it please your royal highness 
to dismiss all that attend you here, save my lord the Earl 
of Hertford.?” 

Observing that Tom did not seem to know how to pro- 
ceed, Hertford whispered him to make a sign with his hand 
and not trouble himself to speak unless he chose. When 
the waiting gentlemen had retired. Lord St. John said: 

“His majesty commandeth, that for due and weighty 
reasons of state, the prince’s grace shall hide his infirmity 

35 


The Prince and the Pauper 

in all ways that be within his power, till it be passed and 
he be as he was before. To wit, that he shall deny to none 
that he is the true prince, and heir to England’s greatness; 
that he shall uphold his princely dignity, and shall receive, 
without word or sign of protest, that reverence and observ- 
ance which unto it do appertain of right and ancient usage; 
that he shall cease to speak to any of that lowly birth and 
life his malady hath conjured out of the unwholesome im- 
aginings of o’erwrought fancy; that he shall strive with dili- 
gence to bring into his memory again those faces which he 
was wont to know — and where he faileth he shall hold his 
peace, neither betraying by semblance of surprise, or other 
sign, that he hath forgot; that upon occasions of state, 
whensoever any matter shall perplex him as to the thing he 
should do or the utterance he should make, he shall show 
naught of unrest to the curious that look on, but take ad- 
vice in that matter of the Lord Hertford, or my humble 
self, which are commanded of the king to be upon this ser- 
vice and close at call, till this commandment be dissolved. 
Thus saith the king’s majesty, who sendeth greeting to 
your royal highness and prayeth that God will of His mercy 
quickly heal you and have you now and ever in His holy 
keeping.” 

The Lord St. John made reverence and stood aside. Tom 
replied, resignedly: 

‘‘The king hath said it. None may palter with the 
king’s command, or fit it to his ease, where it doth chafe, 
with deft evasions. The king shall be obeyed.” 

36 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Lord Hertford said: 

"‘Touching the king’s majesty’s ordainment concerning 
books and such like serious matters, it may peradventure 
please your highness to ease your time with lightsome en- 
tertainment, lest you go wearied to the banquet and suffer 
harm thereby.” 

Tom’s face showed inquiring surprise; and a blush fol- 
lowed when he saw Lord St. John’s eyes bent sorrowfully 
upon him. His lordship said: 

“Thy memory still wrongeth thee, and thou hast shown 
surprise — but suffer it not to trouble thee, for ’tis a matter 
that will not bide, but depart with thy mending malady. 
My Lord of Hertford speaketh of the city’s banquet which 
the king’s majesty did promise two months flown, your 
highness should attend. Thou recallest it now?” 

“It grieves me to confess it had indeed escaped me,” said 
Tom, in a hestitating voice; and blushed again. 

At that moment the Lady Elizabeth and the Lady Jane 
Grey were announced. The two lords exchanged signiflcant 
glances, and Hertford stepped quickly toward the door. As 
the young girls passed him, he said in a low voice: 

“I pray ye, ladies, seem not to observe his humors, nor 
show surprise when his memory doth lapse — it will grieve 
you to note how it doth stick at every trifle.” 

Meanwhile Lord St. John was saying in Tom’s ear: 

“Please you sir, keep diligently in mind his majesty’s 
desire. Remember all thou canst — seem to remember all 
else. Let them not perceive that thou art much changed 

37 


The Prince and the Pauper 

from thy wont, for thou knowest how tenderly thy old 
playfellows bear thee in their hearts and how ’twould 
grieve them. Art willing, sir, that I remain? — and thine 
uncle?” 

Tom signified assent with a gesture and a murmured 
word, for he was already learning, and in his simple heart 
was resolved to acquit himself as best he might, according 
to the king’s command. 

In spite of every precaution, the conversation among 
the young people became a little embarrassing at times. 
More than once, in truth, Tom was near to breaking down 
and confessing himself unequal to his tremendous part; but 
the tact of the Princess Elizabeth saved him, or a word from 
one or the other of the vigilant lords, thrown in apparently 
by chance, had the same happy effect. Once the little 
Lady Jane turned to Tom and dismayed him with this 
question: 

‘‘Hast paid thy duty to the queen’s majesty to-day, 
my lord?” 

Tom hesitated, looked distressed, and was about to 
stammer out something at.hazard, when Lord St. John took 
the word and answered for him with the easy grace of a 
courtier accustomed to encounter delicate difficulties and 
to be ready for them : 

“He hath indeed, madam, and she did greatly hearten 
him, as touching his majesty’s condition: is it not so, your 
highness?” 

Tom mumbled something that stood for assent, but 
38 


The Prince and the Pauper 

felt that he was getting upon dangerous ground. Somewhat 
later it was mentioned that Tom was to study no more 
at present, whereupon her little ladyship exclaimed: 

‘‘ ’Tis a pity, ’tis a pity! Thou wert proceeding bravely. 
But bide thy time in patience; it will not be for long. 
Thou’lt yet be graced with learning like thy father, and make 
thy tongue master of as many languages as his, good my 
prince.” 

‘‘My father!” cried Tom, off his guard for the moment. 
“I trow he cannot speak his own so that any but the swine 
that wallow in the sties may tell his meaning; and as for 
learning of any sort soever — ” 

He looked up and encountered a solemn warning in my 
Lord St. John’s eyes. 

He stopped, blushed, then continued, low and sadly: 
“Ah, my malady persecuteth me again, and my mind wan- 
dereth. I meant the king’s grace no irreverence.” 

“We know it, sir,” said the Princess Elizabeth, taking 
her “brother’s” hand between her two palms, respectfully 
but caressingly; “trouble not thyself as to that. The fault 
is none of thine, but thy distemper’s.” 

“Thou’rt a gentle comforter, sweet lady,” said Tom, 
gratefully, “and my heart moveth me to thank thee for’t, 
an I may be so bold.” 

Once the giddy little Lady Jane fired a simple Greek 
phrase at Tom. The Princess Elizabeth’s quick eye saw 
by the serene blankness of the target’s front that the shaft 
was overshot; so she tranquilly delivered a return volley 

39 


The Prince and the Pauper 

of sounding Greek on Toni’s behalf, and then straightway 
changed the talk to other matters. 

Time wore on pleasantly, and likewise smoothly, on the 
whole. Snags and sand-bars grew less and less frequent, 
and Tom grew more and more at his ease, seeing that all 
were so lovingly bent upon helping him and overlooking 
his mistakes. When it came out that the little ladies were 
to accompany him to the Lord Mayor’s banquet in the eve- 
ning, his heart gave a bound of relief and delight, for he felt 
that he should not be friendless, now, among that multi- 
tude of strangers, whereas, an hour earlier, the idea of their 
going with him would have been an insupportable terror 
to him. 

Tom’s guardian angels, the two lords, had had less 
comfort in the interview than the other parties to it. They 
felt much as if they were piloting a great ship through a 
dangerous channel; they were on the alert constantly, and 
found their oflSce no child’s play. Wherefore, at last, when 
the ladies’ visit was drawing to a close and the Lord Guilford 
Dudley was announced, they not only felt that their charge 
had been suJBBciently taxed for the present, but also that 
they themselves were not in the best condition to take their 
ship back and make their anxious voyage all over again. 
So they respectfully advised Tom to excuse himself, which 
he was very glad to do, although a slight shade of disap- 
pointment might have been observed upon my Lady Jane’s 
face when she heard the splendid stripling denied admit- 
tance. 


40 


The Prince and the Pauper 

There was a pause now, a sort of waiting silence which 
Tom could not understand. He glanced at Lord Hertford, 
who gave him a sign— but he failed to understand that, 
also. The ready Elizabeth came to the rescue with her 
usual easy grace. She made reverence and said: 

‘‘Have we leave of the prince’s grace my brother to go?” 

Tom said: 

“Indeed your ladyships can have whatsoever of me 
they will, for the asking; yet would I rather give them any 
other thing that in my poor power lieth, than leave to take 
the light and blessing of their presence hence. Give ye 
good den, and God be with ye!” Then he smiled inwardly 
at the thought, “ ’tis not for naught I have dwelt but among 
princes in my reading, and taught my tongue some slight 
trick of their broidered and gracious speech withal!” 

When the illustrious maidens were gone, Tom turned 
wearily to his keepers and said: 

“May it please your lordships to grant me leave to go 
into some corner and rest me!” 

Lord Hertford said: 

“So please your highness, it is for you to command, it 
is for us to obey. That thou shouldst rest is indeed a 
needful thing, since thou must journey to the city pres- 
ently.” 

He touched a bell, and a page appeared, who was or- 
dered to desire the presence of Sir William Herbert. This 
gentleman came straightway, and conducted Tom to an 
inner apartment. Tom’s first movement, there, was to 

41 


The Prince and the Pauper 

reach for a cup of water; but a silk-and- velvet servitor 
seized it, dropped upon one knee, and offered it to him on 
a golden salver. 

Next the tired captive sat down and was going to take 
off his buskins, timidly asking leave with his eye, but an- 
other silk-and-velvet discomforter went down upon his 
knees and took the office from him. He made two or three 
further efforts to help himself, but being promptly fore- 
stalled each time, he finally gave up, with a sigh of resig- 
nation and a murmured ‘‘Beshrew me, but I marvel they 
do not require to breathe for me also!” Slippered, and 
wrapped in a sumptuous robe, he laid himself down at last 
to rest, but not to sleep, for his head was too full of thoughts 
and the room too full of people. He could not dismiss the 
former, so they stayed; he did not know enough to dismiss 
the latter, so they stayed also, to his vast regret — and 
theirs. 

Tom’s departure had left his two noble guardians alone. 
They mused awhile, with much head-shaking and walking 
the fioor, then Lord St. John said: 

“Plainly, what dost thou think.^” 

“Plainly, then, this. The king is near his end, my 
nephew is mad, mad will mount the throne, and mad re- 
main. God protect England, since she will need it!” 

“Verily it promiseth so, indeed. But . . . have you no 
misgivings as to . . . as to . . .” 

The speaker hesitated, and finally stopped. He evi- 
dently felt that he was upon delicate ground. Lord Hert- 

42 


The Prince and the Pauper 

ford stopped before him, looked into his face with a clear, 
frank eye, and said: 

“Speak on — there is none to hear but me. Misgivings 
as to what.^” 

“I am full loath to word the thing that is in my mind, 
and thou so near to him in blood, my lord. But craving 
pardon if I do offend, seemeth it not strange that madness 
could so change his port and manner! — not but that his 
port and speech are princely still, but that they differ in 
one unweighty trifle or another, from what his custom was 
aforetime. Seemeth it not strange that madness should 
filch from his memory his father’s very lineaments; the 
customs and observances that are his due from such as be 
about him; and, leaving him his Latin, strip him of his 
Greek and French? My lord, be not offended, but ease my 
mind of its disquiet and receive my grateful thanks. It 
haunteth me, his saying he was not the prince, and so — ” 

“Peace, my lord, thou utterest treason! Hast forgot 
the king’s command? Remember I am party to thy crime, 
if I but listen.” 

St. John paled, and hastened to say: 

“I was in fault, I do confess it. Betray me not, grant 
me this grace out of thy courtesy, and I will neither think 
nor speak of this thing more. Deal not hardly with me, 
sir, else am I ruined.” 

“I am content, my lord. So thou offend not again, 
here or in the ears of others, it shall be as though thou 
hadst not spoken. But thou needst not have misgivings. 

43 


The Prince and the Pauper 

He is my sister’s son; are not his voice, his face, his form, 
familiar to me from his cradle? Madness can do all the 
odd conflicting things thou seest in him, and more. Dost 
not recall how that the old Baron Marley, being mad, for- 
got the favor of his own countenance that he had known 
for sixty years, and held it was another’s; nay, even 
claimed he was the son of Mary Magdalene, and that his 
head was made of Spanish glass; and sooth to say, he suf- 
fered none to touch it, lest by mischance some heedless 
hand might shiver it? Give thy misgivings easement, good 
my lord. This is the very prince, I know him well — and 
soon will be thy king; it may advantage thee to bear this 
in mind and more dwell upon it than the other.” 

After some further talk, in which the Lord St. John 
covered up his mistake as well as he could by repeated 
protests that his faith was thoroughly grounded now, and 
could not be assailed by doubts again, the Lord Hertford 
relieved his fellow-keeper, and sat down to keep watch and 
ward alone. He was soon deep in meditation. And evi- 
dently the longer he thought the more he was bothered. 
By and by he began to pace the floor and mutter. 

"‘Tush, he must be the prince! Will any he in all the 
land maintain there can be two, not of one blood and birth, 
so marvelously twinned? And even were it so, ’twere yet 
a stranger miracle that chance should cast the one into the 
other’s place. Nay, ’tis folly, folly, folly!” 

Presently he said: 

“Now were he impostor and called himself prince, look 
44 


The Prince and the Pauper 

you that would be natural; that would be reasonable. But 
lived ever an impostor yet, who, being called prince by the 
king, prince by the court, prince by all, denied his dignity 
and pleaded against his exaltation? No! By the soul of 
St. Swithin, no! This is the true prince, gone mad!’^ 


VII 


tom’s first royal dinner 

S OMEWHAT after one in the afternoon, Tom resign- 
edly underwent the ordeal of being dressed for dinner. 
He found himself as finely clothed as before, but everything 
different, everything changed, from his ruff to his stockings. 
He was presently conducted with much state to a spacious 
and ornate apartment, where a table was already set for 
one. Its furniture was all of massy gold, and beautified 
with designs which well-nigh made it priceless, since they 
were the work of Benvenuto. The room was half filled 
with noble servitors. A chaplain said grace, and Tom was 
about to fall to, for hunger had long been constitutional 
with him, but was interrupted by my lord the Earl of 
Berkeley, who fastened a napkin about his neck; for the 
great post of Diaperers to the Princes of Wales was he- 
reditary in this nobleman’s family. Tom’s cupbearer was 
present, and forestalled all his attempts to help himself to 
wine. The Taster to his highness the Prince of Wales was 
there also, prepared to taste any suspicious dish upon re- 
quirement, and run the risk of being poisoned. He was 
only an ornamental appendage at this time, and was seldom 

46 


The Prince and the Pauper 

called to exercise his function; but there had been times, 
not many generations past, when the office of taster had 
its perils, and was not a grandeur to be desired. Why they 
did not use a dog or a plumber seems strange; but all the 
ways of royalty are strange. My Lord d’Arcy, First Groom 
of the Chamber, was there, to do goodness knows what; 
but there he was — let that suffice. The Lord Chief Butler 
was there, and stood behind Tom’s chair, overseeing the 
solemnities, under command of the Lord Great Steward 
and the Lord Head Cook, who stood near. Tom had three 
hundred and eighty-four servants besides these; but they 
were not all in that room, of course, nor the quarter of 
them, neither was Tom aware yet that they existed. 

All those that were present had been well drilled within 
the hour to remember that the prince was temporarily out 
of his head, and to be careful to show no surprise at his 
vagaries. These ‘‘vagaries” were soon on exhibition be- 
fore them; but they only moved their compassion and their 
sorrow, not their mirth. It was a heavy affliction to them 
to see the beloved prince so stricken. 

Poor Tom ate with his fingers mainly; but no one 
smiled at it, or even seemed to observe it. He inspected 
his napkin curiously, and with deep interest, for it was of a 
very dainty and beautiful fabric, then said with simplicity: 

“Prithee take it away, lest in mine unheedfulness it be 
soiled.” 

The Hereditary Diaperer took it away with reverent 
manner, and without word or protest of any sort. 

47 


4 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Tom examined the turnips and the lettuce with inter- 
est, and asked what they were, and if they were to be eaten ; 
for it was only recently that men had begun to raise these 
things in England in place of importing them as luxuries 
from Holland.^ His question was answered with grave re- 
spect, and no surprise manifested. When he had finished 
his dessert, he filled his pockets with nuts ; but nobody ap- 
peared to be aware of it, or disturbed by it. But the next 
moment he was himself disturbed by it, and showed dis- 
composure; for this was the only service he had been per- 
mitted to do with his own hands during the meal, and he 
did not doubt that he had done a most improper and un- 
princely thing. At that moment the muscles of his nose 
began to twitch, and the end of that organ to lift and 
wrinkle. This continued, and Tom began to evince a grow- 
ing distress. He looked appealingly, first at one and then 
another of the lords about him, and tears came into his 
eyes. They sprang forward) with dismay in their faces, 
and begged to know his trouble. Tom said with genuine 
anguish : 

“I crave your indulgence: my nose itcheth cruelly. 
What is the custom and usage in this emergence.^ Prithee 
speed, for ’tis but a little time that I can bear it.” 

None smiled; but all were sore perplexed, and looked 
one to the other in deep tribulation for counsel. But be- 
hold, here was a dead wall, and nothing in English history 
to tell how to get over it. The Master of Ceremonies was 

^ See Note 4, at end of the volume. 

48 


The Prince and the Pauper 

not present: there was no one who felt safe to venture 
upon this uncharted sea, or risk the attempt to solve this 
solemn problem. Alas ! there was no Hereditary Scratcher. 
Meantime the tears had overflowed their banks, and begun 
to trickle down Tom’s cheeks. His twitching nose was 
pleading more urgently than ever for relief. At last nature 
broke down the barriers of etiquette: Tom lifted up an 
inward prayer for pardon if he was doing wrong, and 
brought relief to the burdened hearts of his court by scratch- 
ing his nose himself. 

His meal being ended, a lord came and held before him 
a broad, shallow, golden dish with fragrant rose-water in 
it, to cleanse his mouth and fingers with; and my lord the 
Hereditary Diaperer stood by with a napkin for his use. 
Tom gazed at the dish a puzzled moment or two, then 
raised it to his lips, and gravely took a draught. Then he 
returned it to the waiting lord, and said: 

“Nay, it likes me not, my lord: it hath a pretty flavor, 
but it wanteth strength.” 

This new eccentricity of the prince’s ruined mind made 
all the hearts about him ache; but the sad sight moved 
none to merriment. 

Tom’s next unconscious blunder was to get up and 
leave the table just when the chaplain had taken his stand 
behind his chair and with uplifted hands, and closed, up- 
lifted eyes, was in the act of beginning the blessing. Still 
nobody seemed to perceive that the prince had done a 
thing unusual. 


49 


The Prince and the Pauper 

By his own request, our small friend was now conducted 
to his private cabinet, and left there alone to his own de- 
vices. Hanging upon hooks in the oaken wainscoting were 
the several pieces of a suit of shining steel armor, covered 
all over with beautiful designs exquisitely inlaid in gold. 
This martial panoply belonged to the true prince — a recent 
present from Madam Parr, the queen. Tom put on the 
greaves, the gauntlets, the plumed helmet, and such other 
pieces as he could don without assistance, and for a while 
was minded to call for help and complete the matter, but 
bethought him of the nuts he had brought away from din- 
ner, and the joy it would be to eat them with no crowd to 
eye him, and no Grand Hereditaries to pester him with 
undesired services; so he restored the pretty things to their 
several places, and soon was cracking nuts, and feeling 
almost naturally happy for the first time since God for his 
sins had made him a prince. When the nuts were all gone, 
he stumbled upon some inviting books in a closet, among 
them one about the etiquette of the English court. This 
was a prize. He lay down upon a sumptuous divan, and 
proceeded to instruct himself with honest zeal. Let us 
leave him there for the present. 


VIII 


THE QUESTION OF THE SEAL 

A BOUT five o’clock Henry VIII. awoke out of an un- 
refreshing nap, and muttered to himself, ‘‘Troublous 
dreams, troublous dreams! Mine end is now at hand: 
so say these warnings, and my failing pulses do confirm it.” 
Presently a wicked light flamed up in his eye, and he mut- 
tered, “Yet will not I die till he go before.” 

His attendants perceiving that he was awake, one of 
them asked his pleasure concerning the Lord Chancellor, 
who was waiting without. 

“Admit him, admit him!” exclaimed the king eagerly. 

The Lord Chancellor entered, and knelt by the king’s 
couch, saying: 

“I have given order, and, according to the king’s com- 
mand, the peers of the realm, in their robes, do now stand 
at the bar of the House, where, having confirmed the Duke 
of Norfolk’s doom, they humbly wait his majesty’s further 
pleasure in the matter.” 

The king’s face lit up with a fierce joy. Said he: 

“Lift me up! In mine own person will I go before my 
Parliament, and with mine own hand will I seal the war- 
rant that rids me of — ” 


51 


The Prince and the Pauper 

His voice failed; an ashen pallor swept the flush from 
his cheeks; and the attendants eased him back upon his 
pillows, and hurriedly assisted him with restoratives. Pres- 
ently he said sorrowfully: 

‘‘Alack, how I have longed for this sweet hour! and 
lo, too late it cometh, and I am robbed of this so coveted 
chance. But speed ye, speed ye! let others do this happy 
office sith ’tis denied to me. I put my Great Seal in com- 
mission: choose thou the lords that shall compose it, and 
get ye to your work. Speed ye, man! Before the sun shall 
rise and set again, bring me his head that I may see it.” 

“According to the king’s command, so shall it be. 
Wiirt please your majesty to order that the Seal be now 
restored to me, so that I may forth upon the business.^” 

“The Seal! Who keepeth the Seal but thou.^” 

“Please your majesty, you did take it from me two 
days since, saying it should no more do its office till your 
own royal hand should use it upon the Duke of Norfolk’s 
warrant.” ^ 

“Why, so in sooth I did: I do remember it. . . . What 
did I with it.^ . . . I am very feeble. ... So oft these days 
doth my memory play the traitor with me. . . . ’Tis strange, 
strange — ” 

The king dropped into inarticulate mumblings, shaking 
his gray head weakly from time to time, and gropingly 
trying to recollect what he had done with the Seal. At 
last my Lord Hertford ventured to kneel and offer informa- 
tion: 


52 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Sire, if that I may be so bold, here be several that do 
remember with me how that you gave the Great Seal into 
the hands of his highness the Prince of Wales to keep 
against the day that — ” 

‘‘True, most true!” interrupted the king. “Fetch it! 
Go: timeflieth!” 

Lord Hertford flew to Tom, but returned to the king 
before very long, troubled and empty-handed. He de- 
livered himself to this effect: 

“It grieveth me, my lord the king, to bear so heavy 
and unwelcome tidings; but it is the will of God that the 
prince’s affliction abideth still, and he cannot recall to mind 
that he received the Seal. So came I quickly to report, 
thinking it were waste of precious time, and little worth 
withal, that any should attempt to search the long array 
of chambers and saloons that belong unto his royal high — ” 

A groan from the king interrupted my lord at this point. 
After a little while his majesty said, with a deep sadness in 
his tone: 

“Trouble him no more, poor child. The hand of God 
lieth heavy upon him, and my heart goeth out in loving 
compassion for him, and sorrow that I may not bear his 
burden on mine own old trouble-weighted shoulders, and 
so bring him peace.” 

He closed his eyes, fell to mumbling, and presently was 
silent. After a time he opened his eyes again, and gazed 
vacantly around until his glance rested upon the kneeling 
Lord Chancellor. Instantly his face flushed with wrath: 

53 


The Prince and the Pauper 

‘‘What, thou here yet! By the glory of God, an thou 
gettest not about that traitor’s business, thy miter shall 
have holiday the morrow for lack of a head to grace withal!” 

The trembling Chancellor answered: 

“Good your majesty, I cry you mercy! I but waited 
for the Seal.” 

“Man, hast lost thy wits? The small Seal which afore- 
time I was wont to take with me abroad lieth in my treasury. 
And, since the Great Seal hath flown away, shall not it 
suffice? Hast lost thy wits? Begone! And hark ye — 
come no more till thou do bring his head.” 

The poor Chancellor was not long in removing himself 
from this dangerous vicinity; nor did the commission waste 
time in giving the royal assent to the work of the slavish 
Parliament, and appointing the morrow for the beheading 
of the premier peer of England, the luckless Duke of Nor- 
folk.i 


'See Note 5, at end of the volume. 


IX 


THE RIVER PAGEANT 

At nine in the evening the whole vast river-front of the 
palace was blazing with light. The river itself, as 
far as the eye could reach cityward, was so thickly covered 
with watermen’s boats and with pleasure-barges, all fringed 
with colored lanterns, and gently agitated by the waves, 
that it resembled a glowing and limitless garden of flowers 
stirred to soft motion by summer winds. The grand ter- 
race of stone steps leading down to the water, spacious 
enough to mass the army of a German principality upon, 
was a picture to see, with its ranks of royal halberdiers in 
polished armor, and its troops of brilliantly costumed servi- 
tors flitting up and down, and to and fro, in the hurry of 
preparation. 

Presently a command was given, and immediately all 
living creatures vanished from the steps. Now the air 
was heavy with the hush of suspense and expectancy. As 
far as one’s vision could carry, he might see the myriads of 
people in the boats rise up, and shade their eyes from the 
glare of lanterns and torches, and gaze toward the palace. 

A file of forty or fifty state barges drew up to the steps. 

55 


The Prince and the Pauper 

They were richly gilt, and their lofty prows and sterns were 
elaborately carved. Some of them were decorated with 
banners and streamers; some with cloth-of-gold and arras 
embroidered with coats of arms; others with silken flags 
that had numberless little silver bells fastened to them, 
which shook out tiny showers of joyous music whenever 
the breezes fluttered them; others of yet higher pretensions, 
since they belonged to nobles in the prince’s immediate 
service, had their sides picturesquely fenced with shields 
gorgeously emblazoned with armorial bearings. Each state 
barge was towed by a tender. Besides the rowers, these 
tenders carried each a number of men-at-arms in glossy 
helmet and breastplate, and a company of musicians. 

The advance-guard of the expected procession now ap- 
peared in the great gateway, a troop of halberdiers. ‘‘They 
were dressed in striped hose of black and tawny, velvet 
caps graced at the sides with silver roses, and doublets of 
murrey and blue cloth, embroidered on the front and back 
with the three feathers, the prince’s blazon, woven in gold. 
Their halberd staves were covered with crimson velvet, 
fastened with gilt nails, and ornamented with gold tassels. 
Filing off on the right and left, they formed two long lines, 
extending from the gateway of the palace to the water’s 
edge. A thick, rayed cloth or carpet was then unfolded, 
and laid down between them by attendants in the gold- 
and-crimson liveries of the prince. This done, a flourish 
of trumpets resounded from within. A lively prelude arose 
from the musicians on the water; and two ushers with 

56 



HE TURNED, DOFFED HIS PLUMED CAP, BENT HIS BODY IN LOW REVERENCE, AND 

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The Prince and the Pauper 

white wands marched with a slow and stately pace from 
the portal. They were followed by an officer bearing the 
civic mace, after whom came another carrying the city’s 
sword; then several sergeants of the city guard, in their 
full accoutrements, and with badges on their sleeves; then 
the Garter king-at-arms, in his tabard; then several knights 
of the bath, each with a white lace on his sleeve; then their 
esquires; then the judges, in their robes of scarlet and 
coifs; then the Lord High Chancellor of England, in a robe 
of scarlet, open before, and purfled with minever; then a 
deputation of aldermen, in their scarlet cloaks; and then 
the heads of the different civic companies, in their robes 
of state. Now came twelve French gentlemen, in splendid 
habiliments, consisting of pourpoints of white damask 
barred with gold, short mantles of crimson velvet lined 
with violet taffeta, and carnation-colored hauts-de-chausses, 
and took their way down the steps. They were of the suite 
of the French ambassador, and were followed by twelve 
cavaliers of the suite of the Spanish ambassador, clothed 
in black velvet, unrelieved by any ornament. Following 
these came several great English nobles with their at- 
tendants.” 

There was a flourish of trumpets within; and the prince’s 
uncle, the future great Duke of Somerset, emerged from 
the gateway, arrayed in a ‘‘doublet of black cloth-of-gold, 
and a cloak of crimson satin flowered with gold, and ribanded 
with nets of silver.” He turned, doffed his plumed cap, 
bent his body in low reverence, and began to step back- 

57 


The Prince and the Pauper 

ward, bowing at each step. A prolonged trumpet-blast 
followed, and a proclamation, ‘‘Way for the high and 
mighty, the Lord Edward, Prince of Wales!” High aloft 
on the palace walls a long line of red tongues of flame 
leaped forth with a thunder-crash: the massed world on 
the river burst into a mighty roar of welcome; and Tom 
Canty, the cause and hero of it all, stepped into view, and 
slightly bowed his princely head. 

He was “magnificently habited in a doublet of white 
satin, with a front-piece of purple cloth-of -tissue, powdered 
with diamonds, and edged with ermine. Over this he wore 
a mantle of white cloth-of-gold, pounced with the triple- 
feather crest, lined with blue satin, set with pearls and 
precious stones, and fastened with a clasp of brilliants. 
About his neck hung the order of the Garter, and several 
princely foreign orders”; and wherever light fell upon him 
jewels responded with a blinding flash. O Tom Canty, 
born in a hovel, bred in the gutters of London, familiar 
with rags and dirt and misery, what a spectacle is this! 


X 


THE PRINCE IN THE TOILS 

W E left John Canty dragging the rightful prince into 
Offal Court, with a noisy and delighted mob at his 
heels. There was but one person in it who offered a plead- 
ing word for the captive, and he was not heeded: he was 
hardly even heard, so great was the turmoil. The prince 
continued to struggle for freedom, and to rage against the 
treament he was suffering, until John Canty lost what 
little patience was left in him, and raised his oaken cudgel 
in a sudden fury over the prince’s head. The single pleader 
for the lad sprang to stop the man’s arm, and the blow de- 
scended upon his own wrist. Canty roared out: 

‘‘Thou’lt meddle, wilt thou.^^ Then have thy reward.” 
His cudgel crashed down upon the meddler’s head: 
there was a groan, a dim form sank to the ground among 
the feet of the crowd, and the next moment it lay there in 
the dark alone. The mob pressed on, their enjoyment 
nothing disturbed by this episode. 

Presently the prince found himself in John Canty’s 
abode, with the door closed against the outsiders. By the 
vague light of a tallow candle which was thrust into a 

59 


The Prince and the Pauper 

bottle, he made out the main features of the loathsome 
den, and also of the occupants of it. Two frowsy girls 
and a middle-aged woman cowered against the wall in one 
corner, with the aspect of animals habituated to harsh 
usage, and expecting and dreading it now. From another 
corner stole a withered hag with streaming gray hair and 
malignant eyes. John Canty said to this one: 

"‘Tarry! There’s fine mummeries here. Mar them not 
till thou’st enjoyed them; then let thy hand be as heavy 
as thou wilt. Stand forth, lad. Now say thy foolery 
again, an thou’st not forgot it. Name thy name. Who 
art thou.^” 

The insulted blood mounted to the little prince’s cheek 
once more, and he lifted a steady and indignant gaze to 
the man’s face, and said: 

“’Tis but ill-breeding in such as thou to command me 
to speak. I tell thee now, as I told thee before, I am Edward, 
Prince of Wales, and none other.” 

The stunning surprise of this reply nailed the hag’s feet 
to the fioor where she stood, and almost took her breath. 
She stared at the prince in stupid amazement, which so 
amused her ruffianly son that he burst into a roar of laugh- 
ter. But the effect upon Tom Canty’s mother and sisters 
was different. Their dread of bodily injury gave way at 
once to distress of a different sort. They ran forward with 
woe and dismay in their faces, exclaiming: 

“O poor Tom, poor lad!” 

The mother fell on her knees before the prince, put her 
60 


The Prince and the Pauper 

hands upon his shoulders, and gazed yearningly into his 
face through her rising tears. Then she said: 

‘‘O my poor boy! thy foolish reading hath wrought its 
woeful work at last, and ta’en thy wit away. Ah! why 
didst thou cleave to it when I so warned thee ’gainst it.^ 
Thou’st broke thy mother’s heart.” 

The prince looked into her face, and said gently: 

‘‘Thy son is well, and hath not lost his wits, good 
dame. Comfort thee: let me to the palace where he is, 
and straightway will the king my father restore him to 
thee.” 

“The king thy father! O my child! unsay these words 
that be freighted with death for thee, and ruin for all that 
be near to thee. Shake off this gruesome dream. Call back 
thy poor wandering memory. Look upon me. Am not I 
thy mother that bore thee, and loveth thee?” 

The prince shook his head, and reluctantly said: 

“ God knoweth I am loath to grieve thy heart; but truly 
have I never looked upon thy face before.” 

The woman sank back to a sitting posture on the floor, 
and, covering her eyes with her hands, gave way to heart- 
broken sobs and wailings. 

“Let the show go on!” shouted Canty. “What, Nan! 
what. Bet! Mannerless wenches! will ye stand in the 
prince’s presence? Upon your knees, ye pauper scum, and 
do him reverence!” 

He followed this with another horse-laugh. The girls 
began to plead timidly for their brother; and Nan said: 

61 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“An thou wilt but let him to bed, father, rest and sleep 
will heal his madness: prithee, do.” 

“Do, father,” said Bet; “he is more worn than is his 
wont. To-morrow will he be himself again, and will beg 
with diligence, and come not empty home again.” 

This remark sobered the father’s joviality, and brought 
his mind to business. He turned angrily upon the prince, 
and said: 

“The morrow must we pay two pennies to him that 
owns this hole; two pennies, mark ye— all this money for 
a half-year’s rent, else out of this we go. Show what thou’st 
gathered with thy lazy begging.” 

The prince said: 

“Offend me not with thy sordid matters. I tell thee 
again I am the king’s son.” 

A sounding blow upon the prince’s shoulder from Canty’s 
broad palm sent him staggering into good-wife Canty’s 
arms, who clasped him to her breast and sheltered him 
from a pelting rain of cuffs and slaps by interposing her 
own person. 

The frightened girls retreated to their corner; but the 
grandmother stepped eagerly forward to assist her son. 
The prince sprang away from Mrs. Canty, exclaiming: 

“Thou shalt not suffer for me, madam. Let these 
swine do their will upon me alone.” 

This speech infuriated the swine to such a degree that 
they set about their work without waste of time. Between 
them they belabored the boy right soundly, and then gave 

62 


The Prince and the Pauper 

the girls and their mother a beating for showing sympathy 
for the victim. 

“Now/’ said Canty, “to bed, all of ye. The entertain- 
ment has tired me.” 

The light was put out, and the family retired. As soon 
as the snorings of the head of the house and his mother 
showed that they were asleep, the young girls crept to 
where the prince lay, and covered him tenderly from the 
cold with straw and rags; and their mother crept to him 
also, and stroked his hair, and cried over him, whispering 
broken words of comfort and compassion in his ear the 
while. She had saved a morsel for him to eat, also; but 
the boy’s pains had swept away all appetite — at least for 
black and tasteless crusts. He was touched by her brave 
and costly defense of him, and by her commiseration; and 
he thanked her in very noble and princely words, and 
begged her to go to her sleep and try to forget her sorrows. 
And he added that the king his father would not let her 
loyal kindness and devotion go unrewarded. This return 
to his “madness” broke her heart anew, and she strained 
him to her breast again and again and then went back, 
drowned in tears, to her bed. 

As she lay thinking and mourning, the suggestion began 
to creep into her mind that there was an undefinable some- 
thing about this boy that was lacking in Tom Canty, mad 
or sane. She could not describe it, she could not tell just 
what it was, and yet her sharp mother-instinct seemed to 
detect it and perceive it. What if the boy were really not 
5 63 


The Prince and the Pauper 

her son, after all? Oh, absurd! She almost smiled at the 
idea, spite of her griefs and troubles. No matter, she found 
that it was an idea that would not ‘‘down,” but persisted 
in haunting her. It pursued her, it harassed her, it clung 
to her, and refused to be put away or ignored. At last she 
perceived that there was not going to be any peace for her 
until she should devise a test that should prove, clearly 
and without question, whether this lad was her son or not, 
and so banish these wearing and worrying doubts. Ah, 
yes, this was plainly the right way out of the difficulty; 
therefore she set her wits to work at once to contrive that 
test. But it was an easier thing to propose than to ac- 
complish. She turned over in her mind one promising test 
after another, but was obliged to relinquish them all — 
none of them were absolutely sure, absolutely perfect; and 
an imperfect one could not satisfy her. Evidently she was 
racking her head in vain — it seemed manifest that she 
must give the matter up. While this depressing thought 
was passing through her mind, her ear caught the regular 
breathing of the boy, and she knew he had fallen asleep. 
And while she listened, the measured breathing was broken 
by a soft, startled cry, such as one utters in a troubled 
dream. This chance occurrence furnished her instantly 
with a plan worth all her labored tests combined. She at 
once set herself feverishly, but noiselessly, to work, to re- 
light her candle, muttering to herself, “Had I but seen him 
then, I should have known! Since that day, when he was 
little, that the powder burst in his face, he hath never been 


The Prince and the Pauper 

startled of a sudden out of his dreams or out of his think- 
ings, but he hath cast his hand before his eyes, even as he 
did that day, and not as others would do it, with the palm 
inward, but always with the palm turned outward — I have 
seen it a hundred times, and it hath never varied nor ever 
failed. Yes, I shall soon know, now!” 

By this time she had crept to the slumbering boy’s 
side, with the candle, shaded, in her hand. She bent heed- 
fully and warily over him, scarcely breathing, in her sup- 
pressed excitement, and suddenly flashed the light in his 
face and struck the floor by his ear with her knuckles. 
The sleeper’s eyes sprung wide open, and he cast a startled 
stare about him — but he made no special movement with 
his hands. 

The poor woman was smitten almost helpless with sur- 
prise and grief; but she contrived to hide her emotions, 
and to soothe the boy to sleep again; then she crept apart 
and communed miserably with herself upon the disastrous 
result of her experiment. She tried to believe that her 
Tom’s madness had banished this habitual gesture of his; 
but she could not do it. “No,” she said, “his hands are 
not mad, they could not unlearn so old a habit in so brief 
a time. Oh, this is a heavy day for me!” 

Still, hope was as stubborn, now, as doubt had been 
before; she could not bring herself to accept the verdict 
of the test; she must try the thing again — the failure must 
have been only an accident; so she startled the boy out 
of his sleep a second and a third time, at intervals— with 

65 


The Prince and the Pauper 

the same result which had marked the first test — then she 
dragged herself to bed, and fell sorrowfully asleep, saying, 
“But I cannot give him up — oh, no, I cannot, I cannot — 
he must be my boy!” 

The poor mother’s interruptions having ceased, and the 
prince’s pains having gradually lost their power to disturb 
him, utter weariness at last sealed his eyes in a profound 
and restful sleep. Hour after hour slipped away, and still 
he slept like the dead. Thus four or five hours passed. 
Then his stupor began to lighten. Presently, while half 
asleep and half awake, he murmured: 

“Sir William!” 

After a moment: 

“Ho, Sir William Herbert! Hie thee hither, and list 
to the strangest dream that ever . . . Sir William! Dost 
hear? Man, I did think me changed to a pauper, and . . . 
Ho there! Guards! Sir William! What! is there no 
groom of the chamber in waiting? Alack it shall go hard 
with — ” 

“What aileth thee?” asked a whisper near him. “Who 
art thou calling?” 

“Sir William Herbert. Who art thou?” 

“I? Who should I be, but thy sister Nan? Oh, Tom, 
I had forgot! Thou’rt mad yet — poor lad thou’rt mad yet, 
would I had never woke to know it again! But prithee 
master thy tongue, lest we be all beaten till we die!” 

The startled prince sprang partly up, but a sharp re- 
minder from his stiffened bruises brought him to himself, 

66 


The Prince and the Pauper 

and he sank back among his foul straw with a moan and 
the ejaculation: 

‘‘Alas, it was no dream, then!’’ 

In a moment all the heavy sorrow and misery which 
sleep had banished were upon him again, and he realized 
that he was no longer a petted prince in a palace, with the 
adoring eyes of a nation upon him, but a pauper, an out- 
cast, clothed in rags, prisoner in a den fit only for beasts, 
and consorting with beggars and thieves. 

In the midst of his grief he began to be conscious of 
hilarious noises and shoutings, apparently but a block or 
two away. The next moment there were several, raps at 
the door; John Canty ceased from snoring and said: 

“Who knocketh.^ What wilt thou.^” 

A voice answered: 

“Know’st thou who it was thou laid thy cudgel on.^^” 

“No. Neither know I, nor care.” 

“Belike thou’lt change thy note eftsoons. An thou 
would save thy neck, nothing but flight may stead thee. 
The man is this moment delivering up the ghost. ’Tis the 
priest. Father Andrew!” 

“ God-a-mercy !” exclaimed Canty. He roused his family, 
and hoarsely commanded, “Up with ye all and fly — or bide 
where ye are and perish!” 

Scarcely five minutes later the Canty household were 
in the street and flying for their lives. John Canty held 
the prince by the wrist, and hurried him along the dark 
way, giving him this caution in a low voice: 


The Prince and the Pauper 

‘"Mind thy tongue, thou mad fool, and speak not our 
name. I will choose me a new name, speedily, to throw the 
law’s dogs off the scent. Mind thy tongue, I tell thee!” 

He growled these words to the rest of the family: 

“If it so chance that we be separated, let each make 
for London Bridge; whoso findeth himself as far as the 
last linen-draper’s shop on the Bridge, let him tarry there 
till the others be come, then will we flee into Southwark 
together.” 

At this moment the party burst suddenly out of dark- 
ness into light; and not only into light, but into the midst 
of a multitude of singing, dancing, and shouting people, 
massed together on the river frontage. There was a line 
of bonfires stretching as far as one could see, up and down 
the Thames; London Bridge was illuminated, Southwark 
Bridge likewise; the entire river was aglow with the flash 
and sheen of colored lights; and constant explosions of 
fireworks filled the skies with an intricate commingling of 
shooting splendors and a thick rain of dazzling sparks that 
almost turned night into day; everywhere were crowds of 
revelers; all London seemed to be at large. 

John Canty delivered himself of a furious curse and 
commanded a retreat; but it was too late. He and his 
tribe were swallowed up in that swarming hive of humanity, 
and hopelessly separated from each other in an instant. 
We are not considering that the prince was one of his 
tribe; Canty still kept his grip upon him. The prince’s 
heart was beating high with hopes of escape, now. A burly 

68 


The Prince and the Pauper 

waterman, considerably exalted with liquor, found himself 
rudely shoved, by Canty, in his efforts to plow through 
the crowd; he laid his great hand on Canty’s shoulder and 
said: 

‘'Nay, whither so fast, friend? Dost canker thy soul 
with sordid business when all that be leal men and true 
make holiday?” 

“Mine affairs are mine own, they concern thee not,” 
answered Canty, roughly; “take away thy hand and let 
me pass.” 

“Sith that is thy humor, thou’lt not pass till thou’st 
drunk to the Prince of Wales, I tell thee that,” said the 
waterman, barring the way resolutely. 

“Give me the cup, then, and make speed, make speed!” 

Other revelers were interested by this time. They cried 
out: 

“The loving-cup, the loving-cup! make the sour knave 
drink the loving-cup, else will we feed him to the fishes.” 

So a huge loving-cup was brought; the waterman, 
grasping it by one of its handles, and with his other hand 
bearing up the end of an imaginary napkin, presented it 
in due and ancient form to Canty, who had to grasp the 
opposite handle with one of his hands and take off the lid 
with the other, according to ancient custom.^ This left 
the prince hand-free for a second, of course. He wasted 
no time, but dived among the forest of legs about him and 
disappeared. In another moment he could not have been 

^See Note 6, at end of the volume. 

69 


The Prince and the Pauper 

harder to find, under that tossing sea of life, if its billows 
had been the Atlantic’s and he a lost sixpence. 

He very soon realized this fact, and straightway busied 
himself about his own affairs without further thought of 
John Canty. He quickly realized another thing, too. To 
wit, that a spurious Prince of Wales was being feasted by 
the city in his stead. He easily concluded that the pauper 
lad, Tom Canty, had deliberately taken advantage of his 
stupendous opportunity and become a usurper. 

Therefore there was but one course to pursue — find his 
way to the Guildhall, make himself known, and denounce 
the impostor. He also made up his mind that Tom should 
be allowed a reasonable time for spiritual preparation, and 
then be hanged, drawn, and quartered, according to the 
law and usage of the day, in cases of high treason. 


XI 


AT GUILDHALL 

T he royal barge, attended by its gorgeous fleet, took 
its stately way down the Thames through the wil- 
derness of illuminated boats. The air was laden with music; 
the river-banks were berufiled with joy -flames; the distant 
city lay in a soft luminous glow from its countless invisible 
bonfires; above it rose many a slender spire into the sky, 
incrusted with sparkling lights, wherefore in their remote- 
ness they seemed like jeweled lances thrust aloft; as the 
fleet swept along, it was greeted from the banks with a 
continuous hoarse roar of cheers and the ceaseless flash 
and boom of artillery. 

To Tom Canty, half buried in his silken cushions, these 
sounds and this spectacle were a wonder unspeakably sub- 
lime and astonishing. To his little friends at his side, the 
Princess Elizabeth and the Lady Jane Grey, they were 
nothing. 

Arrived at the Dowgatc, the fleet was towed up the 
limpid Walbrook, whose channel has now been for two 
centuries buried out of sight under acres of buildings, 
to Bucklersbury, pa^ houses and under bridges populous 

71 


The Prince and the Pauper 

with merrymakers and brilliantly lighted, and at last came 
to a halt in a basin where now is Barge Yard, in the center 
of the ancient city of London. Tom disembarked, and he 
and his gallant procession crossed Cheapside and made a 
short march through the Old Jewry and Basinghall Street 
to the Guildhall. 

Tom and his little ladies were received with due cere- 
mony by the Lord Mayor and the Fathers of the City, in 
their gold chains and scarlet robes of state, and conducted 
to a rich canopy of state at the head of the great hall, 
preceded by heralds making proclamation, and by the Mace 
and the City Sword. The lords and ladies who were to at- 
tend upon Tom and his two small friends took their places 
behind their chairs. 

At a lower table the court grandees and other guests 
of noble degree were seated, with the magnates of the city; 
the commoners took places at a multitude of tables on the 
main floor of the hall. From their lofty vantage-ground, 
the giants Gog and Magog, the ancient guardians of the 
city, contemplated the spectacle below them with eyes 
grown familiar to it in forgotten generations. There was a 
bugle-blast and a proclamation, and a fat butler appeared 
in a high perch in the leftward wall, followed by his servi- 
tors bearing with impressive solemnity a royal Baron of 
Beef, smoking hot and ready for the knife. 

After grace, Tom, being instructed, rose — and the 
whole house with him — and drank from a portly loving- 
cup with the Princess Elizabeth; from her it passed to the 

72 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Lady Jane, and then traversed the general assemblage. So 
the banquet began. 

By midnight the revelry was at its height. Now came 
one of those picturesque spectacles so admired in that old 
day. A description of it is still extant in the quaint word- 
ing of a chronicler who witnessed it: 

‘‘Space being made, presently entered a baron and an 
earl appareled after the Turkish fashion in long robes of 
bawdkin powdered with gold; hats on their heads of 
crimson velvet, with great rolls of gold, girded with two 
swords, called scimitars, hanging by great bawdricks of 
gold. Next came yet another baron and another earl, 
in two long gowns of yellow satin, traversed with white 
satin, and in every bend of white was a bend of crim- 
son satin, after the fashion of Russia, with furred hats 
of gray on their heads; either of them having an hatchet 
in their hands, and boots with pykes [points about a 
foot long], turned up. And after them came a knight, 
then the Lord High Admiral, and with him five nobles 
in doublets of crimson velvet, voyded low on the back 
and before to the cannel-bone, laced on the breasts 
with chains of silver; and, over that, short cloaks of 
crimson satin, and on their heads hats after the dancers’ 
fashion, with pheasants’ feathers in them. These were 
appareled after the fashion of Prussia. The torch-bearers, 
which were about an hundred, were appareled in crimson 
satin and green, like Moors, their faces black. Next 
came in a mommarye. Then the minstrels, which were 

73 


The Prince and the Pauper 

disguised, danced; and the lords and ladies did wildly 
dance also, that it was a pleasure to behold.” 

And while Tom, in his high seat, was gazing upon this 
‘‘wild” dancing, lost in admiration of the dazzling com- 
mingling of kaleidoscopic colors which the whirling tur- 
moil of gaudy figures below him presented, the ragged but 
real little Prince of Wales was proclaiming his rights and 
his wrongs, denouncing the impostor, and clamoring for ad- 
mission at the gates of Guildhall! The crowd enjoyed this 
episode prodigiously, and pressed forward and craned their 
necks to see the small rioter. Presently they began to 
taunt him and mock at him, purposely to goad him into 
a higher and still more entertaining fury. Tears of morti- 
fication sprung to his eyes, but he stood his ground and 
defied the mob right royally. Other taunts followed, 
added mockings stung him, and he exclaimed: 

“I tell ye again, you pack of unmannerly curs, I am 
the Prince of Wales! And all forlorn and friendless as I be, 
with none to give me word of grace or help me in my need, 
yet will not I be driven from my ground, but will main- 
tain it!” 

“Though thou be prince or no prince, ’tis all one, thou 
be’st a gallant lad, and not friendless neither! Here stand 
I by thy side to prove it; and mind I tell thee thou might’st 
have a worser friend than Miles Hendon and yet not tire 
thy legs with seeking. Rest thy small jaw, my child, I 
talk the language of these base kennel-rats like to a very 
native.” 


74 


The Prince and the Pauper 

The speaker was a sort of Don Csesar de Bazan in dress, 
aspect, and bearing. He was tall, trim-built, muscular. 
His doublet and trunks were of rich material, but faded 
and threadbare, and their gold-lace adornments were sadly 
tarnished; his ruff was rumpled and damaged; the plume 
in his slouched hat was broken and had a bedraggled and 
disreputable look; at his side he wore a long rapier in a 
rusty iron sheath; his swaggering carriage marked him at 
once as a rufSer of the camp. The speech of this fantastic 
figure was received with an explosion of jeers and laughter. 
Some cried, ‘‘’Tis another prince in disguise!” ‘‘’Ware thy 
tongue, friend, belike he is dangerous !” “Marry, he looketh 
it — mark his eye!” “Pluck the lad from him — to the 
horse-pond wi’ the cub!” 

Instantly a hand was laid upon the prince, under the 
impulse of this happy thought; as instantly the stranger’s 
long sword was out and the meddler went to the earth 
under a sounding thump with the flat of it. The next 
moment a score of voices shouted “Kill the dog! kill him! 
kill him!” and the mob closed in on the warrior, who backed 
himself against a wall and began to lay about him with 
his long weapon like a madman. His victims sprawled 
this way and that, but the mob-tide poured over their 
prostrate forms and dashed itself against the champion 
with undiminished fury. His moments seemed numbered, 
his destruction certain, when suddenly a trumpet-blast 
sounded, a voice shouted, “Way for the king’s messenger!” 
and a troop of horsemen came charging down upon the mob, 

75 


The Prince and the Pauper 

who fled out of harm’s reach as fast as their legs could 
carry them. The bold stranger caught up the prince 
in his arms, and was soon far away from danger and the 
multitude. 

Return we within the Guildhall. Suddenly, high above 
the jubilant roar and thunder of the revel, broke the clear 
peal of a bugle-note. There was instant silence — a deep 
hush ; than a single voice rose — that of the messenger from 
the palace — and began to pipe forth a proclamation, the 
whole multitude standing, listening. The closing words, 
solemnly pronounced, were: 

‘‘The king is dead!” 

The great assemblage bent their heads upon their 
breasts with one accord; remained so, in profound silence, 
a few moments; then all sunk upon their knees in a body, 
stretched out their hands toward Tom, and a mighty shout 
burst forth that seemed to shake the building: 

“Long live the king!” 

Poor Tom’s dazed eyes wandered abroad over this stupe- 
fying spectacle, and Anally rested dreamily upon the kneel- 
ing princesses beside him, a moment, then upon the Earl 
of Hertford. A sudden purpose dawned in his face. He 
said, in a low tone, at Lord Hertford’s ear: 

“Answer me truly, on thy faith and honor! Uttered 
I here a command, the which none but a king might hold 
privilege and prerogative to utter, would such command- 
ment be obeyed, and none rise up to say me nay.^” 

“None, my liege, in all these realms. In thy person 
76 


The Prince and the Pauper 

bides the majesty of England. Thou art the king — thy 
word is law.” 

Tom responded, in a strong, earnest voice, and with 
great animation: 

‘‘Then shall the king’s law be law of mercy, from this 
day, and never more be law of blood! Up from thy knees 
and away! To the Tower and say the king decrees the 
Duke of Norfolk shall not die!”^ 

The words were caught up and carried eagerly from lip 
to lip far and wide over the hall, and as Hertford hurried 
from the presence, another prodigious shout burst forth: 

“The reign of blood is ended! Long live Edward, king 
of England!” 


^See Note 7, at end of the volume. 


XII 


THE PRINCE AND HIS DELIVERER 

As soon as Miles Hendon and the little prince were 
clear of the mob they struck down through back lanes 
and alleys toward the river. Their way was unobstructed 
until they approached London Bridge; then they plowed 
into the multitude again, Hendon keeping a fast grip upon 
the prince’s — no, the king’s — -wrist. The tremendous news 
was already abroad, and the boy learned it from a thou- 
sand voices at once — ‘‘The king is dead!” The tidings 
struck a chill to the heart of the poor little waif, and sent 
a shudder through his frame. He realized the greatness of 
his loss, and was filled with a bitter grief; for the grim 
tyrant who had been such a terror to others had always 
been gentle with him. The tears sprung to his eyes and 
blurred all objects. For an instant he felt himself the most 
forlorn, outcast, and forsaken of God’s creatures — then 
another cry shook the night with its far-reaching thunders : 
“Long live King Edward the Sixth!” and this made his 
eyes kindle, and thrilled him with pride to his fingers’ ends. 
“Ah,” he thought, “how grand and strange it seems — I 
AM king!” 


78 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Our friends threaded their way slowly through the 
throngs upon the Bridge. This structure, which had stood 
for six hundred years, and had been a noisy and populous 
thoroughfare all that time, was a curious affair, for a closely 
packed rank of stores and shops, with family quarters 
overhead, stretched along both sides of it, from one bank 
of the river to the other. The Bridge was a sort of town to 
itself; it had its inn, its beer-houses, its bakeries, its haber- 
dasheries, its food markets, its manufacturing industries, 
and even its church. It looked upon the two neighbors 
which it linked together — London and Southwark — as being 
well enough, as suburbs, but not otherwise particularly 
important. It was a close corporation, so to speak; it 
was a narrow town, of a single street a fifth of a mile long, 
its population was but a village population, and everybody 
in it knew all his fellow-townsmen intimately, and had 
known their fathers and mothers before them — and all 
their little family affairs into the bargain. It had its aris- 
tocracy, of course — its fine old families of butchers, and 
bakers, and what not, who had occupied the same old 
premises for five or six hundred years, and knew the great 
history of the Bridge from beginning to end, and all its 
strange legends; and who always talked bridgy talk, and 
thought bridgy thoughts, and lied in a long, level, direct, 
substantial bridgy way. It was just the sort of population 
to be narrow and ignorant and self-conceited. Children 
were born on the Bridge, were reared there, grew to old 
age and finally died without ever having set a foot upon 

6 79 


The Prince and the Pauper 

any part of the world but London Bridge alone. Such 
people would naturally imagine that the mighty and in- 
terminable procession which moved through its street night 
and day, with its confused roar of shouts and cries, its 
neighings and bellowings and bleatings and its mufiSed 
thunder-tramp, was the one great thing in this world, and 
themselves somehow the proprietors of it. And so they were 
in effect — at least they could exhibit it from their windows, 
and did — for a consideration — whenever a returning king 
or hero gave it a fleeting splendor, for there was no place 
like it for affording a long, straight, uninterrupted view of 
marching columns. 

Men born and reared upon the Bridge found life un- 
endurably dull and inane elsewhere. History tells of one 
of these who left the Bridge at the age of seventy-one and 
retired to the country. But he could only fret and toss in 
his bed; he could not go to sleep, the deep stillness was so 
painful, so awful, so oppressive. When he was worn out 
with it, at last, he fled back to his old home, a lean and 
haggard specter, and fell peacefully to rest and pleasant 
dreams under the lulling music of the lashing waters and 
the boom and crash and thunder of London Bridge. 

In the times of which we are writing, the Bridge fur- 
nished ‘‘object lessons” in English history, for its children 
— namely, the livid and decaying heads of renowned men 
impaled upon iron spikes atop of its gateways. But we 
digress. 

Hendon’s lodgings were in the little inn on the Bridge. 

80 


The Prince and the Pauper 

As he neared the door with his small friend, a rough voice 
said: 

*^So, thou’rt come at last! Thou’lt not escape again, 
I warrant thee; and if pounding thy bones to a pudding 
can teach thee somewhat, thou’lt not keep us waiting an- 
other time, mayhap” — and John Canty put out his hand 
to seize the boy. 

Miles Hendon stepped in the way, and said: 

‘‘Not too fast, friend. Thou art needlessly rough, me- 
thinks. What is the lad to thee.^” 

“If it be any business of thine to make and meddle in 
others’ affairs, he is my son.” 

“’Tis a lie!” cried the little king, hotly. 

“Boldly said, and I believe thee, whether thy small head- 
piece be sound or cracked, my boy. But whether this scurvy 
ruffian be thy father or no, ’tis all one, he shall not have 
thee to beat thee and abuse, according to his threat, so 
thou prefer to abide with me.” 

“I do, I do — I know him not, I loathe him, and will 
die before I go with him.” 

“Then ’tis settled, and there is naught more to say.” 

“We will see, as to that!” exclaimed John Canty, strid- 
ing past Hendon to get at the boy; “by force shall he — ” 

“If thou do but touch him, thou animated offal, I will 
spit thee like a goose!” said Hendon, barring the way and 
laying his hand upon his sword-hilt. Canty drew back. 
“Now mark ye,” continued Hendon, “I took this lad under 
my protection when a mob of such as thou would have mis- 

81 


The Prince and the Pauper 

handled him, mayhap killed him; dost imagine I will desert 
him now to a worser fate? — for whether thou art his father 
or no, — and sooth to say, I think it is a lie — a decent swift 
death were better for such a lad than life in such brute hands 
as thine. So go thy ways, and set quick about it, for I like 
not much bandying of words, being not over-patient in my 
nature.” 

John Canty moved off, muttering threats and curses, 
and was swallowed from sight in the crowd. Hendon as- 
cended three flights of stairs to his room, with his charge, 
after ordering a meal to be sent thither. It was a poor 
apartment, with a shabby bed and some odds and ends of 
old furniture in it, and was vaguely lighted by a couple of 
sickly candles. The little king dragged himself to the bed 
and lay down upon it, almost exhausted with hunger and 
fatigue. He had been on his feet a good part of a day and 
a night, for it was now two or three o’clock in the morning, 
and had eaten nothing meantime. He murmured drowsily : 

‘‘Prithee call me when the table is spread,” and sunk 
into a deep sleep immediately. 

A smile twinkled in Hendon’s eye, and he said to him- 
self: 

“By the mass, the little beggar takes to one’s quarters 
and usurps one’s bed with as natural and easy a grace as if 
he owned them — with never a by-your-leave, or so-please-it- 
you, or anything of the sort. In his diseased ravings he 
called himself the Prince of Wales, and bravely doth he 
keep up the character. Poor little friendless rat, doubtless 
82 


The Prince and the Pauper 

his mind has been disordered with ill usage. Well, I will 
be his friend; I have saved him, and it draweth me strongly 
to him; already I love the bold-tongued little rascal. How 
soldier-like he faced the smutty rabble and flung back his 
high defiance! And what a comely, sweet and gentle face 
he hath, now that sleep hath conjured away its troubles 
and its griefs. I will teach him, I will cure his malady; 
yea, I will be his elder brother, and care for him and watch 
over him; and whoso would shame him or do him hurt, 
may order his shroud, for though I be burnt for it he shall 
need it!” 

He bent over the boy and contemplated him with kind 
and pitying interest, tapping the young cheek tenderly 
and smoothing back the tangled curls with his great brown 
hand. A slight shiver passed over the boy’s form. Hendon 
muttered: 

“See, now, how like a man it was to let him lie here 
uncovered and fill his body with deadly rheums. Now what 
shall I do? ’Twill wake him to take him up and put him 
within the bed, and he sorely needeth sleep.” 

He looked about for extra covering, but finding none, 
doffed his doublet and wrapped the lad in it, saying, “I 
am used to nipping air and scant apparel, ’tis little I shall 
mind the cold” — then walked up and down the room to 
keep his blood in motion, soliloquizing as before. 

“His injured mind persuades him he is Prince of Wales; 
’twill be odd to have a Prince of Wales still with us, now 
that he that was the prince is prince no more, but king — 

83 


The Prince and the Pauper 

for this poor mind is set upon the one fantasy, and will not 
reason out that now it should cast by the prince and call 
itself the king. ... If my father liveth still, after these seven 
years that I have heard naught from home in my foreign 
dungeon, he will welcome the poor lad and give him gen- 
erous shelter for my sake; so will my good elder brother, 
Arthur; my other brother, Hugh — but I will crack his 
crown, an he interfere, the fox-hearted, ill-conditioned 
animal! Yes, thither will we fare — and straightway, too.” 

A servant entered with a smoking meal, disposed it 
upon a small deal table, placed the chairs, and took his 
departure, leaving such cheap lodgers as these to wait upon 
themselves. The door slammed after him, and the noise 
woke the boy, who sprung to a sitting posture, and shot 
a glad glance about him; then a grieved look came into 
his face and he murmured to himself, with a deep sigh, 
‘‘Alack, it was but a dream. Woe is me.” Next he noticed 
Miles Hendon’s doublet — glanced from that to Hendon, 
comprehended the sacrifice that had been made for him, 
and said, gently: 

“Thou art good to me, yes, thou art very good to me. 
Take it and put it on — I shall not need it more.” 

Then he got up and walked to the washstand in the 
corner, and stood there waiting. Hendon said in a cheery 
voice : 

“We’ll have a right hearty sup and bite now, for every- 
thing is savory and smoking hot, and that and thy nap 
together will make thee a little man again, never fear!” 

84 


The Prince and the Pauper 

The boy made no answer, but bent a steady look, that 
was filled with grave surprise, and also somew^hat touched 
with impatience, upon the tall knight of the sword. Hendon 
was puzzled, and said: 

“What’s amiss?” 

“Good sir, I would wash me.” 

“Oh, is that all! Ask no permission of Miles Hendon 
for aught thou cravest. Make thyself perfectly free here 
and welcome, with all that are his belongings.” 

Still the boy stood, and moved not; more, he tapped 
the floor once or twice with his small impatient foot. Hen- 
don was wholly perplexed. Said he: 

“Bless us, what is it?” 

“ Prithee, pour the water, and make not so many words !” 

Hendon, suppressing a horse-laugh, and saying to him- 
self, “By all the saints, but this is admirable!” stepped 
briskly forward and did the small insolent’s bidding; then 
stood by, in a sort of stupefaction, until the command, 
“Come — the towel!” woke him sharply up. He took up a 
towel from under the boy’s nose and handed it to him, 
without comment. He now proceeded to comfort his own 
face with a wash, and while he was at it his adopted child 
seated himself at the table and prepared to fall to. Hendon 
despatched his ablutions with alacrity, then drew back the 
other chair and was about to place himself at table, when 
the boy said, indignantly: 

“Forbear! Wouldst sit in the presence of the king?” 

This blow staggered Hendon to his foundations. He 
85 


The Prince and the Pauper 

muttered to himself, “Lo, the poor thing’s madness is up 
with the time ! it hath changed with the great change that 
is come to the realm, and now in fancy is he king! Good 
lack, I must humor the conceit, too — there is no other way 
— faith, he would order me to the Tower, else!” 

And pleased with this jest, he removed the chair from 
the table, took his stand behind the king, and proceeded 
to wait upon him in the courtliest way he was capable of. 

When the king ate, the rigor of his royal dignity relaxed 
a little and with his growing contentment came a desire to 
talk. He said: 

think thou callest thyself Miles Hendon, if I heard 
thee aright?” 

‘‘Yes, sire,” Miles replied; then observed to himself, 
“If I must humor the poor lad’s madness, I must sire him, 
I must majesty him, I must not go by halves, I must stick 
at nothing that belongeth to the part I play, else shall I 
play it ill and work evil to this charitable and kindly 
cause.” 

The king warmed his heart with a second glass of wine, 
and said: “I would know thee — tell me thy story. Thou 
hast a gallant way with thee, and a noble — art nobly born?” 

“We are of the tail of the nobility, good your majesty. 
My father is a baronet — one of the smaller lords, by knight 
service ^ — Sir Richard Hendon, of Hendon Hall, by Monk’s 
Holm in Kent.” 

iHe refers to the order of baronets, or baronettes, — the barones minores, as distinct 
from the parliamentary barons; — not, it need hardly be said, the baronets of later creation. 

86 



“l THINK THOU CALLEST THYSELF MILES HENDON, IF I HEARD THEE ARIGHT?" 

















The Prince and the Pauper 

“The name has escaped my memory. Go on — tell me 
thy story.” 

“’Tis not much, your majesty, yet perchance it may 
beguile a short half-hour for want of a better. My father, 
Sir Richard, is very rich, and of a most generous nature. 
My mother died whilst I was yet a boy. I have two broth- 
ers: Arthur, my elder, with a soul like to his father’s; and 
Hugh, younger than I, a mean spirit, covetous, treacherous, 
vicious, underhanded — a reptile. Such was he from the 
cradle; such was he ten years past, when I last saw him 
— a ripe rascal at nineteen, I being twenty then, and Arthur 
twenty -two. There is none other of us but the Lady Edith, 
my cousin — she was sixteen, then — beautiful, gentle, good, 
the daughter of an earl, the last of her race, heiress of a great 
fortune and a lapsed title. My father was her guardian. 
I loved her and she loved me; but she was betrothed to 
Arthur from the cradle, and Sir Richard would not suffer 
the contract to be broken. Arthur loved another maid, 
and bade us be of good cheer and hold fast to the hope that 
delay and luck together would some day give success to our 
several causes. Hugh loved the Lady Edith’s fortune, 
though in truth he said it was herself he loved — ^but then 
’twas his way, alway, to say one thing and mean the other. 
But he lost his arts upon the girl; he could deceive my 
father, but none else. My father loved him best of us all, 
and trusted and believed him; for he was the youngest 
child and others hated him— these qualities being in all 
ages sufficient to win a parent’s dearest love; and he had 

87 


The Prince and the Pauper 

a smooth persuasive tongue, with an admirable gift of 
lying — and these be qualities which do mightily assist a 
blind affection to cozen itself. I was wild — in troth I 
might go yet farther and say very wild, though ’twas a 
wildness of an innocent sort, since it hurt none but me, 
brought shame to none, nor loss, nor had in it any taint of 
crime or baseness, or what might not beseem mine honor- 
able degree. 

‘‘Yet did my brother Hugh turn these faults to good 
account — he seeing that our brother Arthur’s health was 
but indifferent, and hoping the worst might work him 
profit were I swept out of the path — so — but ’twere a long 
tale, good my liege, and little worth the telling. Briefly, 
then, this brother did deftly magnify my faults and make 
them crimes; ending his base work with finding a silken 
ladder in mine apartments — conveyed thither by his own 
means — and did convince my father by this, and suborned 
evidence of servants and other lying knaves, that I was 
minded to carry off my Edith and marry with her, in rank 
defiance of his will. 

“Three years of banishment from home and England 
might make a soldier and a man of me, my father said, 
and teach me some degree of wisdom. I fought out my 
long probation in the continental wars, tasting sumptu- 
ously of hard knocks, privation, and adventure; but in 
my last battle I was taken captive, and during the seven 
years that have waxed and waned since then, a foreign 
dungeon hath harbored me. Through wit and courage I 

88 


The Prince and the Pauper 

won to the free air at last, and fled hither straight; and am 
but just arrived, right poor in purse and raiment, and poorer 
still in knowledge of what these dull seven years have 
wrought at Hendon Hall, its people and belongings. So 
please you, sir, my meager tale is told.” 

‘‘Thou hast been shamefully abused!” said the little 
king, with a flashing eye. “But I will right thee — ^by the 
cross will I! The king hath said it.” 

Then, fired by the story of Miles’s wrongs, he loosed 
his tongue and poured the history of his own recent mis- 
fortunes into the ears of his astonished listener. When he 
had finished. Miles said to himself: 

“Lo, what an imagination he hath! Verily this is no 
common mind; else, crazed or sane, it could not weave 
so straight and gaudy a tale as this out of the airy nothings 
wherewith it hath wrought this curious romaunt. Poor 
ruined little head, it shall not lack friend or shelter 
whilst I bide with the living. He shall never leave my 
side; he shall be my pet, my little comrade. And he 
shall be cured! — aye, made whole and sound — then will 
he make himself a name — and proud shall I be to say, 
‘Yes, he is mine — I took him, a homeless little raga- 
mufiin, but I saw what was in him, and I said his name 
would be heard some day — behold him, observe him — 
was I right?’ ” 

The king spoke — in a thoughtful, measured voice: 

“Thou didst save me injury and shame, perchance my 
life, and so my crown. Such service demandeth rich re- 

89 


The Prince and the Pauper 

ward. Name thy desire, and so it be within the compass of 
my royal power, it is thine.” 

This fantastic suggestion startled Hendon out of his 
reverie. He was about to thank the king and put the mat- 
ter aside with saying he had only done his duty and desired 
no reward, but a wiser thought came into his head, and he 
asked leave to be silent a few moments and consider the 
gracious offer — an idea which the king gravely approved, 
remarking that it was best to be not too hasty with a thing 
of such great import. 

Miles reflected during some moments, then said to him- 
self, ‘‘Yes, that is the thing to do — by any other means it 
were impossible to get at it — and certes, this hour’s ex- 
perience has taught me ’twould be most wearing and in- 
convenient to continue it as it is. Yes, I will propose it; 
’twas a happy accident that I did not throw the chance 
away.” Then he dropped upon one knee and said: 

“My poor service went not beyond the limit of a sub- 
ject’s simple duty, and therefore hath no merit; but since 
your majesty is pleased to hold it worthy some reward, I 
take heart of grace to make petition to this effect. Near 
four hundred years ago, as your grace knoweth, there being 
ill blood betwixt John, king of England, and the king of 
France, it was decreed that two champions should fight 
together in the lists, and so settle the dispute by what is 
called the arbitrament of God. These two kings, and the 
Spanish king, being assembled to witness and judge the 
conflict, the French champion appeared; but so redoubt- 

90 


The Prince and the Pauper 

able was he that our English knights refused to measure 
weapons with him. So the matter, which was a weighty 
one, was like to go against the English monarch by default. 
Now in the Tower lay the Lord de Courcy, the mightiest 
arm in England, stripped of his honors and possessions, 
and wasting with long captivity. Appeal was made to him; 
he gave assent, and came forth arrayed for battle; but no 
sooner did the Frenchman glimpse his huge frame and hear 
his famous name, but he fled away, and the French king’s 
cause was lost. King John restored De Courcy ’s titles and 
possessions, and said, ‘Name thy wish and thou shalt have 
it, though it cost me half my kingdom ’ ; whereat De Courcy, 
kneeling, as I do now, made answer, ‘This, then, I ask, my 
liege; that I and my successors may have and hold the 
privilege of remaining covered in the presence of the kings 
of England, henceforth while the throne shall last.’ The 
boon was granted, as your majesty knoweth; and there 
hath been no time, these four hundred years, that that line 
has failed of an heir; and so, even unto this day, the head 
of that ancient house still weareth his hat or helm before 
the king’s majesty, without let or hindrance, and this none 
other may do.^ Invoking this precedent in aid of my 
prayer, I beseech the king to grant to me but this one grace 
and privilege — to my more than sufiicient reward — and 
none other, to wit: that I and my heirs, forever, may sit 
in the presence of the majesty of England!” 

“Rise, Sir Miles Hendon, knight,” said the king, gravely 

‘The lords of Kingsale, descendants of De Courcy, still enjoy this curious privilege. 

91 


The Prince and the Pauper 

— giving the accolade with Hendon’s sword — ‘"rise and 
seat thyself. Thy petition is granted. While England re- 
mains, and the crown continues, the privilege shall not 
lapse.” 

His majesty walked apart, musing, and Hendon dropped 
into a chair at table, observing to himself, “’Twas a brave 
thought, and hath wrought me a mighty deliverance; my 
legs are grievously wearied. An I had not thought of that, 
I must have had to stand for weeks, till my poor lad’s wits 
are cured.” After a little he went on, “And so I am become 
a knight of the Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows ! A most 
odd and strange position, truly, for one so matter-of-fact 
as I. I will not laugh — no, God forbid, for this thing which 
is so substanceless to me is real to him. And to me, also, 
in one way, it is not a falsity, for it reflects with truth the 
sweet and generous spirit that is in him.” After a pause: 
“Ah, what if he should call me by my fine title before 
folk! — there’d be a merry contrast betwixt my glory and 
my raiment! But no matter; let him call me what he will, 
so it please him; I shall be content.” 


XIII 


THE DISAPPEARANCE OF THE PRINCE 

A HEAVY drowsiness presently fell upon the two com- 
rades. The king said: 

‘‘Remove these rags” — meaning his clothing. 

Hendon disappareled the boy without dissent or re- 
mark, tucked him up in bed, then glanced about the room, 
saying to himself, ruefully, “He hath taken my bed again, 
as before — marry, what shall I do?” The little king ob- 
served his perplexity, and dissipated it with a word. He 
said, sleepily: 

“Thou wilt sleep athwart the door, and guard it.” In 
a moment more he was out of his troubles, in a deep slumber. 

“Dear heart, he should have been born a king!” mut- 
tered Hendon, admiringly; “he playeth the part to a 
marvel.” 

Then he stretched himself across the door, on the floor, 
saying contentedly: 

“I have lodged worse for seven years; ’twould be but 
ill gratitude to Him above to find fault with this.” 

He dropped asleep as the dawn appeared. Toward noon 
he rose, uncovered his unconscious ward — a section at a 

92 


The Prince and the Pauper 

time — and took his measure with a string. The king awoke 
just as he had completed his work, complained of the cold, 
and asked what he was doing. 

‘‘’Tis done now, my liege,” said Hendon; ‘‘I have a bit 
of business outside, but will presently return; sleep thou 
again — thou needest it. There — ^let me cover thy head also 
— thou’lt be warm the sooner.” 

The king was back in dreamland before this speech was 
ended. Miles slipped softly out, and slipped as softly in 
again, in the course of thirty or forty minutes, with a com- 
plete second-hand suit of boy’s clothing, of cheap material, 
and showing signs of wear; but tidy, and suited to the 
season of the year. He seated himself, and began to over- 
haul his purchase, mumbling to himself: 

‘‘A longer purse would have got a better sort, but when 
one has not the long purse one must be content with what 
a short one may do — 

“‘There was a woman in our town. 

In our town did dwell’ — 

“He stirred, methinks — I must sing in a less thunderous 
key; ’tis not good to mar his sleep, with this journey before 
him and he so wearied out, poor chap. . . . This garment 
— ’tis well enough — a stitch here and another one there will 
set it aright. This other is better, albeit a stitch or two will 
not come amiss in it, likewise. . . . These be very good and 
sound, and will keep his small feet warm and dry — an odd 
new thing to him, belike, since he has doubtless been used 

94 


The Prince and the Pauper 

to foot it bare, winters and summers the same. . . . Would 
thread were bread, seeing one getteth a year’s suflSciency 
for a farthing, and such a brave big needle without cost, 
for mere love. Now shall I have the demon’s own time to 
thread it!” 

And so he had. He did as men have always done, and 
probably always will do, to the end of time — held the 
needle still, and tried to thrust the thread through the eye, 
which is the opposite of a woman’s way. Time and time 
again the thread missed the mark, going sometimes on one 
side of the needle, sometimes on the other, sometimes 
doubling up against the shaft; but he was patient, having 
been through these experiences before, when he was sol- 
diering. He succeeded at last, and took up the garment 
that had lain waiting, meantime, across his lap, and began 
his work. “The inn is paid — the breakfast that is to come, 
included — and there is wherewithal left to buy a couple of 
donkeys and meet our little costs for the two or three days 
betwixt this and the plenty that awaits us at Hendon Hall — 

“‘She loved her hus’ — 

“Body o’ me! I have driven the needle under my nail! 
. . . It matters little — ’tis not a novelty — ^yet ’tis not a 
convenience, neither. . . . We shall be merry there, little 
one, never doubt it! Thy troubles will vanish there, and 
likewise thy sad distemper — 

“‘She loved her husband dearilee, 

But another man’ — 

95 


7 


The Prince and the Pauper 

‘‘These be noble large stitches!” — holding the garment 
up and viewing it admiringly — ‘‘they have a grandeur and 
a majesty that do cause these small stingy ones of the 
tailor-man to look mighty paltry and plebeian — 

“‘She loved her husband dearilee. 

But another man he loved she,’ — 

“Marry, ’tis done — a goodly piece of work, too, and 
wrought with expedition. Now will I wake him, apparel 
him, pour for him, feed him, and then will we hie us to the 
mart by the Tabard inn in Southwark and — be pleased to 
rise, my liege! — he answereth not — what ho, my liege! — 
of a truth must I profane his sacred person with a touch, 
sith his slumber is deaf to speech. What!” 

He threw back the covers — the boy was gone! 

He stared about him in speechless astonishment for a 
moment; noticed for the first time that his ward’s ragged 
raiment was also missing, then he began to rage and storm, 
and shout for the innkeeper. At that moment a servant 
entered with the breakfast. 

“Explain, thou limb of Satan, or thy time is come!” 
roared the man of war, and made so savage a spring toward 
the waiter that this latter could not find his tongue, for the 
instant, for fright and surprise. “Where is the boy.^^” 

In disjointed and trembling syllables the man gave the 
information desired. 

“You were hardly gone from the place, your worship, 
when a youth came running and said it was your worship’s 

96 


The Prince and the Pauper 

will that the boy come to you straight, at the bridge-end 
on the Southwark side. I brought him thither; and when 
he woke the lad and gave his message, the lad did grumble 
some little for being disturbed ‘so early,’ as he called it, 
but straightway trussed on his rags and went with the 
youth, only saying it had been better manners that your 
worship came yourself, not sent a stranger — and so — ” 

“And so thou’rt a fool! — a fool, and easily cozened — 
hang all thy breed! Yet mayhap no hurt is done. Possibly 
no harm is meant the boy. I will go fetch him. Make the 
table ready. Stay! the coverings of the bed were disposed 
as if one lay beneath them — happened that by accident?” 

“I know not, good your worship. I saw the youth 
meddle with them — he that came for the boy.” 

“Thousand deaths! ’twas done to deceive me — ’tis plain 
’twas done to gain time. Hark ye! Was that youth alone?” 

“All alone, your worship.” 

“Art sure?” 

“Sure, your worship.” 

“Collect thy scattered wits — ^bethink thee — take time, 
man.” 

After a moment’s thought, the servant said: 

“When he came, none came with him; but now I re- 
member me that as the two stepped into the throng of the 
Bridge, a ruffian-looking man plunged out from some near 
place; and just as he was joining them — ” 

“What then?—o\xt with it!” thundered the impatient 
Hendon, interrupting. 


The Prince and the Pauper 

‘‘Just then the crowd lapped them up and closed them 
in, and I saw no more, being called by my master, who was 
in a rage because a joint that the scrivener had ordered 
was forgot, though I take all the saints to witness that to 
blame me for that miscarriage were like holding the un- 
born babe to judgment for sins com — ” 

“Out of my sight, idiot! Thy prating drives me mad! 
Hold! whither art flying? Canst not bide still an instant? 
Went they toward Southwark?” 

“Even so, your worship — for, as I said before, as to that 
detestable joint, the babe unborn is no whit more blame- 
less than — ” 

“Art here And prating still? Vanish, lest I throttle 
thee!” The servitor vanished. Hendon followed after him, 
passed him, and plunged down the stairs two steps at a 
stride, muttering, “’Tis that scurvy villain that claimed 
he was his son. I have lost thee, my poor little mad master 
— it is a bitter thought — and I had come to love thee so! 
No! by book and bell, not lost! Not lost, for I will ransack 
the land till I find thee again. Poor child, yonder is his 
breakfast — and mine, but I have no hunger now — so, let 
the rats have it — speed, speed! that is the word!” As he 
wormed his swift way through the noisy multitudes upon 
the Bridge, he several times said to himself — clinging to 
the thought as if it were a particularly pleasing one: “He 
grumbled, but he went — he went, yes, because he thought 
Miles Hendon asked it, sweet lad — he would ne’er have 
done it for another, I know it well!” 

98 


XIV 


^"lE ROI EST MORT VIVE LE ROl” 

T oward daylight of the same morning, Tom Canty 
stirred out of a heavy sleep and opened his eyes in the 
dark. He lay silent a few moments trying to analyze his 
confused thoughts and impressions, and get some sort of 
meaning out of them, then suddenly he burst out in a rap- 
turous but guarded voice: 

“I see it all, I see it all! Now God be thanked, I am, 
indeed, awake at last! Come, joy! vanish, sorrow! Ho, 
Nan! Bet! kick oflF your straw and hie ye hither to my 
side, till I do pour into your unbelieving ears the wildest 
madcap dream that ever the spirits of night did conjure up 
to astonish the soul of man withal! . . . Ho, Nan, I say! 
Betr . . . 

A dim form appeared at his side, and a voice said: 

Wilt deign to deliver thy commands.^” 

‘‘Commands? . . . Oh, woe is me, I know thy voice! 
Speak, thou — who am I?” 

“Thou? In sooth, yesternight wert thou the Prince of 
Wales, to-day art thou my most gracious liege, Edward, 
king of England.” 


99 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Tom buried his head among his pillows, murmuring 
plaintively: 

“Alack, it was no dream! Go to thy rest, sweet sir — 
leave me to my sorrows.” 

Tom slept again, and after a time he had this pleasant 
dream. He thought it was summer and he was playing, 
all alone, in the fair meadow called Goodman’s Fields, 
when a dwarf only a foot high, with long red whiskers and 
a humped back, appeared to him suddenly and said, “Dig, 
by that stump.” He did so, and found twelve bright new 
pennies — wonderful riches! Yet this was not the best of 
it; for the dwarf said: 

“I know thee. Thou art a good lad and deserving; 
thy distresses shall end, for the day of thy reward is come. 
Dig here every seventh day, and thou shalt find always the 
same treasure, twelve bright new pennies. Tell none — keep 
the secret.” 

Then the dwarf vanished, and Tom fiew to Offal Court 
with his prize, saying to himself, “Every night will I give 
my father a penny; he will think I begged it, it will glad 
his heart, and I shall no more be beaten. One penny every 
week the good priest that teacheth me shall have; mother. 
Nan, and Bet the other four. We be done with hunger and 
rags now, done with fears and frets and savage usage.” 

In his dream he reached his sordid home all out of 
breath, but with eyes dancing with grateful enthusiasm; 
cast four of his pennies into his mother’s lap and cried out: 

“They are for thee! — all of them, every one! — for thee 
100 


The Prince and the Pauper 

and Nan and Bet — and honestly come by, not begged nor 
stolen!” 

The happy and astonished mother strained him to her 
breast and exclaimed: 

^‘It waxeth late — may it please your majesty to rise?” 

Ah, that was not the answer he was expecting. The 
dream had snapped asunder — he was awake. 

He opened his eyes — the richly clad First Lord of the 
Bedchamber was kneeling by his couch. The gladness of 
the lying dream faded away — the poor boy recognized that 
he was still a captive and a king. The room was filled with 
courtiers clothed in purple mantles — the mourning color — 
and with noble servants of the monarch. Tom sat up in 
bed and gazed out from the heavy silken curtains upon this 
fine company. 

The weighty business of dressing began, and one cour- 
tier after another knelt and paid his court and offered to 
the little king his condolences upon his heavy loss, while 
the dressing proceeded. In the beginning, a shirt was taken 
up by the Chief Equerry in Waiting, who passed it to the 
First Lord of the Buckhounds, who passed it to the Second 
Gentleman of the Bedchamber, who passed it to the Head 
Ranger of Windsor Forest, who passed it to the Third 
Groom of the Stole, who passed it to the Chancellor Royal 
of the Duchy of Lancaster, who passed it to the Master of 
the Wardrobe, who passed it to Norroy King-at-Arms, who 
passed it to the Constable of the Tower, who passed it to 
the Chief Steward of the Household, who passed it to the 

101 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Hereditary Grand Diaperer, who passed it to the Lord 
High Admiral of England, who passed it to the Archbishop 
of Canterbury, who passed it to the First Lord of the Bed- 
chamber, who took what was left of it and put it on Tom. 
Poor little wondering chap, it reminded him of passing 
buckets at a fire. 

Each garment in its turn had to go through this slow and 
solemn process; consequently Tom grew very weary of the 
ceremony; so weary that he felt an almost gushing grateful- 
ness when he at last saw his long silken hose begin the jour- 
ney down the line and knew that the end of the matter was 
drawing near. But he exulted too soon. The First Lord of 
the Bedchamber received the hose and was about to incase 
Tom’s legs in them, when a sudden flush invaded his face 
and he hurriedly hustled the things back into the hands of 
the Archbishop of Canterbury with an astounded look and a 
whispered, "‘See, my lord!” — pointing to a something con- 
nected with the hose. The Archbishop paled, then flushed, 
and passed the hose to the Lord High Admiral, whispering, 
“See, my lord!” The Admiral passed the hose to the 
Hereditary Grand Diaperer, and had hardly breath enough 
in his body to ejaculate, “See, my lord!” The hose drifted 
backward along the line, to the Chief Steward of the House- 
hold, the Constable of the Tower, Norroy King-at-Arms, the 
Master of the Wardrobe, the Chancellor Royal of the Duchy 
of Lancaster, the Third Groom of the Stole, the Head Rang- 
er of Windsor Forest, the Second Gentleman of the Bed- 
chamber, the First Lord of the Buckhounds — accompanied 

102 


The Prince and the Pauper 

always with that amazed and frightened ‘'See! see!’’ — till 
they finally reached the hands of the Chief Equerry in 
Waiting, who gazed a moment, with a pallid face, upon 
what had caused all this dismay, then hoarsely whispered, 
“Body of my life, a tag gone from a truss point! — to the 
Tower with the Head Keeper of the King’s Hose!” — after 
which he leaned upon the shoulder of the First Lord of the 
Buckhounds to regather his vanished strength while fresh 
hose, without any damaged strings to them, were brought. 

But all things must have an end, and so in time Tom 
Canty was in a condition to get out of bed. The proper 
official poured water, the proper ofiicial engineered the 
washing, the proper official stood by with a towel, and by 
and by Tom got safely through the purifying stage and was 
ready for the services of the Hairdresser-royal. When he at 
length emerged from his master’s hands, he was a gracious 
figure and as pretty as a girl, in his mantle and trunks of 
purple satin, and purple-plumed cap. He now moved in 
state toward his breakfast-room, through the midst of the 
courtly assemblage; and as he passed, these fell back, leaving 
his way free, and dropped upon their knees. 

After breakfast he was conducted, with regal ceremony, 
attended by his great officers and his guard of fifty Gentle- 
men Pensioners bearing gilt battle-axes, to the throne-room, 
where he proceeded to transact business of state. His 
“uncle,” Lord Hertford, took his stand by the throne, to 
assist the royal mind with wise counsel. 

The body of illustrious men named by the late king as his 
103 


The Prince and the Pauper 

executors appeared, to ask Tom’s approval of certain acts 
of theirs — rather a form, and yet not wholly a form, since 
there was no Protector as yet. The Archbishop of Canter- 
bury made report of the decree of the Council of Executors 
concerning the obsequies of his late most illustrious majesty, 
and finished by reading the signatures of the executors, to 
wit: the Archbishop of Canterbury; the Lord Chancellor of 
England; William Lord St. John; John Lord Russell; 
Edward Earl of Hertford; John Viscount Lisle; Cuthbert 
Bishop of Durham — 

Tom was not listening — an earlier clause of the document 
was puzzling him. At this point he turned and whispered 
to Lord Hertford: 

‘‘What day did he say the burial hath been appointed 
for?” 

“The 16th of the coming month, my liege. ” 

“’Tis a strange folly. Will he keep?” 

Poor chap, he was still new to the customs of the royalty; 
he was used to seeing the forlorn dead of Offal Court hustled 
out of the way with a very different sort of expedition. 
However, the Lord Hertford set his mind at rest with a word 
or two. 

A secretary of state presented an order of the council 
appointing the morrow at eleven for the reception of the 
foreign ambassadors, and desired the king’s assent. 

Tom turned an inquiring look tow^ard Hertford, who 
whispered : 

“Your majesty will signify consent. They come to 
104 


The Prince and the Pauper 

testify their royal masters’ sense of the heavy calamity 
which hath visited your grace and the realm of England. ” 

Tom did as he was bidden. Another secretary began to 
read a preamble concerning the expenses of the late king’s 
household, which had amounted to £28,000 during the pre- 
ceding six months — a sum so vast that it made Tom Canty 
gasp; he gasped again when the fact appeared that £20,000 
of this money were still owing and unpaid;^ and once more 
when it appeared that the king’s coffers were about empty, 
and his twelve hundred servants much embarrassed for lack 
of the wages due them. Tom spoke out, with lively appre- 
hension. 

“We be going to the dogs, ’tis plain. ’Tis meet and 
necessary that we take a smaller house and set the servants 
at large, sith they be of no value but to make delay, and 
trouble one with oflSces that harass the spirit and shame the 
soul, they misbecoming any but a doll, that hath nor brains 
nor hands to help itself withal. I remember me of a small 
house that standeth over against the fish-market, by Bil- 
lingsgate — ” 

A sharp pressure upon Tom’s arm stopped his foolish 
tongue and sent a blush to his face; but no countenance 
there betrayed any sign that this strange speech had been 
remarked or given concern. 

A secretary made report that forasmuch as the late king 
had provided in his will for conferring the ducal degree upon 
the Earl of Hertford and raising his brother, Sir Thomas 

1 Hume. 

105 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Seymour, to the peerage, and likewise Hertford’s son to an 
earldom, together with similar aggrandizements to other 
great servants of the crown, the council had resolved to hold 
a sitting on the 16th of February for the delivering and con- 
firming of these honors; and that meantime the late king 
not having granted, in writing, estates suitable to the sup- 
port of these dignities, the council, knowing his private 
wishes in that regard, had thought proper to grant to Sey- 
mour ‘‘500 pound lands,” and to Hertford’s son “800 
pound lands, and 300 pounds of the next bishop’s lands 
which should fall vacant,” — his present majesty being 
willing.^ 

Tom was about to blurt out something about the pro- 
priety of paying the late king’s debts first before squandering 
all his money; but a timely touch upon his arm, from the 
thoughtful Hertford, saved him this indiscretion; wherefore 
he gave the royal assent, without spoken comment, but 
with much inward discomfort. While he sat reflecting a 
moment over the ease with which he was doing strange 
and glittering miracles, a happy thought shot into his 
mind: why not make his mother Duchess of Offal Court 
and give her an estate? But a sorrowful thought swept 
it instantly away; he was only a king in name, these 
grave veterans and great nobles were his masters; to 
them his mother was only the creature of a diseased 
mind; they would simply listen to his project with un- 
believing ears, then send for the doctor. 

^ Hume. 

106 


The Prince and the Pauper 

The dull work went tediously on. Petitions were read, 
and proclamations, patents, and all manner of wordy, 
repetitious, and wearisome papers relating to the public 
business; and at last Tom sighed pathetically and murmured 
to himself, ‘Tn what have I offended, that the good God 
should take me away from the fields and the free air and the 
sunshine, to shut me up here and make me a king and afflict 
me so?’’ Then his poor muddled head nodded awhile, and 
presently dropped to his shoulder; and the business of the 
empire came to a standstill for want of that august factor, 
the ratifying power. Silence ensued around the slumbering 
child, and the sages of the realm ceased from their delibera- 
tions. 

During the forenoon, Tom had an enjoyable hour, by 
permission of his keepers, Hertford and St. John, with the 
Lady Elizabeth and the little Lady Jane Grey; though 
the spirits of the princesses were rather subdued by the 
mighty stroke that had fallen upon the royal house; and at 
the end of the visit his “elder sister” — afterward the 
“Bloody Mary” of history — chilled him with a solemn inter- 
view which had but one merit in his eyes, its brevity. He 
had a few moments to himself, and then a slim lad about 
twelve years of age was admitted to his presence, whose 
clothing, except his snowy ruff and the laces about his 
wrists, was of black — doublet, hose and all. He bore no 
badge of mourning but a knot of purple ribbon on his shoul- 
der. He advanced hesitatingly, with head bowed and bare, 
and dropped upon one knee in front of Tom. Tom sat still 

107 


The Prince and the Pauper 

and contemplated him soberly for a moment. Then he 
said: 

“Rise, lad. Who art thou? What wouldst have?’’ 

The boy rose, and stood at graceful ease, but with an 
aspect of concern in his face. He said : 

“Of a surety thou must remember me, my lord. I am 
thy whipping-boy. ” 

‘ ‘ My whi'p'ping -hoy ? ’ ’ 

“The same, your grace. I am Humphrey — Humphrey 
Marlow. ” 

Tom perceived that here was some one whom his keepers 
ought to have posted him about. The situation was deli- 
cate. What should he do.^ — ^pretend he knew this lad, and 
then betray, by his very utterance, that he had never heard 
of him before? No, that would not do. An idea came to 
his relief : accidents like this might be likely to happen with 
some frequency, now that business urgencies would often 
call Hertford and St. John from his side, they being members 
of the council of executors; therefore perhaps it would be 
well to strike out a plan himself to meet the requirements of 
such emergencies. Yes, that would be a wise course — ^he 
would practise on this boy, and see what sort of success he 
might achieve. So he stroked his brow, perplexedly, a 
moment or two, and presently said: 

“Now I seem to remember thee somewhat — but my wit 
is clogged and dim with suffering — ” 

“Alack, my poor master!” ejaculated the whipping-boy, 
with feeling; adding, to himself, “In truth ’tis as they said — 
108 


The Prince and the Pauper 

his mind is gone — alas, poor soul! But misfortune catch 
me, how am I forgetting! they said one must not seem to 
observe that aught is wrong with him. ” 

“’Tis strange how memory doth wanton with me these 
days,” said Tom. ‘‘But mind it not — I mend apace — a 
little clue doth often serve to bring me back again the things 
and names which had escaped me. [And not they, only, 
forsooth, but e’en such as I ne’er heard before — as this lad 
shall see.] Give thy business speech. ” 

“’Tis matter of small weight, my liege, yet will I touch 
upon it, an it please your grace. Two days gone by, when 
your majesty faulted thrice in your Greek — in the morning 
lessons — dost remember it.^” 

“Ye-e-s — methinks I do. [It is not much of a lie — an I 
had meddled with the Greek at all, I had not faulted simply 
thrice, but forty times.] Yes, I do recall it now — go on. ” 

— “The master, being wroth with what he termed such 
slovenly and doltish work, did promise that he would sound- 
ly whip me for it — and — ” 

“ Whip theel'' said Tom, astonished out of his presence of 
mind. “Why should he whip thee for faults of mine.^^” 
“Ah, your grace forgetteth again. He always scourgeth 
me, when thou dost fail in thy lessons.” 

“True, true — I had forgot. Thou teachest me in pri- 
vate — then if I fail, he argueth that thy office was lamely 
done, and — ” 

“Oh, my liege, what words are these.^ I, the humblest 

of thy servants, presume to teach thee?^’ 

109 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“Then where is thy blame? What riddle is this? Am I 
in truth gone mad, or is it thou? Explain — speak out.’’ 

“But, good your majesty, there’s naught that needeth 
simplifying. None may visit the sacred person of the 
Prince of Wales with blows; wherefore when he faulteth, ’tis 
I that take them; and meet it is right, for that it is mine 
oflSce and my livelihood.”^ 

Tom stared at the tranquil boy, observing to himself, 
“Lo, it is a wonderful thing — a most strange and curious 
trade; I marvel they have not hired a boy to take my comb- 
ings and my dressings for me — would heaven they would ! — 
an they will do this thing, I will take my lashings in mine 
own person, giving God thanks for the change. ” Then he 
said aloud: 

“And hast thou been beaten, poor friend, according to 
the promise?” 

“No, good your majesty, my punishment was appointed 
for this day, and perad venture it may be annulled, as unbe- 
fitting the season of mourning that is come upon us; I know 
not, and so have made bold to come hither and remind your 
grace about your gracious promise to intercede in my be- 
half—” 

“With the master? To save thee thy whipping?” 

“Ah, thou dost remember!” 

“My memory mendeth, thou seest. Set thy mind at 
ease — thy back shall go unscathed — I will see to it. ” 

“Oh, thanks, my good lord!” cried the boy, dropping 

* See Note 8, at end of the volume. 

110 


The Prince and the Pauper 

upon his knee again. “Mayhap I have ventured far enow; 
and yet”. . . . 

Seeing Master Humphrey hesitate, Tom encouraged him 
to go on, saying he was “in the granting mood.” 

“Then will I speak it out, for it lieth near my heart. 
Sith thou art no more Prince of Wales, but king, thou 
canst order matters as thou wilt, with none to say thee nay; 
wherefore it is not in reason that thou wilt longer vex thyself 
with dreary studies, but wilt burn thy books and turn thy 
mind to things less irksome. Then am I ruined, and mine 
orphan sisters with me!” 

“Ruined.^ Prithee, how.^” 

“My back is my bread, O my gracious liege! if it go 
idle, I starve. An thou cease from study, mine office is 
gone, thou’lt need no whipping-boy. Do not turn me 
away!” 

Tom was touched with this pathetic distress. He said, 
with a right royal burst of generosity: 

“Discomfort thyself no further, lad. Thine office shall 
be permanent in thee and thy line, forever.” Then he 
struck the boy a light blow on the shoulder with the 
flat of his sword, exclaiming, “Rise, Humphrey Marlow, 
Hereditary Grand Whipping-Boy to the royal house of 
England! Banish sorrow — I will betake me to my books 
again, and study so ill that they must in justice treble 
thy wage, so mightily shall the business of thine office be 
augmented. ” 

The grateful Humphrey responded fervidly: 

111 


8 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“Thanks, oh, most noble master, this princely lavishness 
doth far surpass my most distempered dreams of fortune. 
Now shall I be happy all my days, and all the house of Mar- 
low after me.” 

Tom had wit enough to perceive that here was a lad who 
could be useful to him. He encouraged Humphrey to talk, 
and he was nothing loath. He was delighted to believe that 
he was helping in Tom’s “cure”; for always, as soon as he 
had finished calling back to Tom’s diseased mind the various 
particulars of his experiences and adventures in the royal 
schoolroom and elsewhere about the palace, he noticed that 
Tom was then able to “recall” the circumstances quite 
clearly. At the end of an hour Tom found himself well 
freighted with very valuable information concerning per- 
sonages and matters pertaining to the court; so he resolved 
to draw instruction from this source daily; and to this end he 
would give order to admit Humphrey to the royal closet 
whenever he might come, provided the majesty of England 
was not engaged with other people. 

Humphrey had hardly been dismissed when my Lord 
Hertford arrived with more trouble for Tom. He said that 
the lords of the council, fearing that some overwrought 
report of the king’s damaged health might have leaked out 
and got abroad, they deemed it wise and best that his majes- 
ty should begin to dine in public after a day or two — his 
wholesome complexion and vigorous step, assisted by a care- 
fully guarded repose of manner and ease and grace of 
demeanor, would more surely quiet the general pulse — in 

112 


The Prince and the Pauper 

case any evil rumors had gone about — than any other 
scheme that could be devised. 

Then the earl proceeded, very delicately, to instruct 
Tom as to the observances proper to the stately occasion, 
under the rather thin disguise of “reminding” him concern- 
ing things already known to him; but to his vast gratifica- 
tion it turned out that Tom needed very little help in this 
line — ^he had been making use of Humphrey in that direc- 
tion, for Humphrey had mentioned that within a few days 
he was to begin to dine in public; having gathered it from 
the swift-winged gossip of the court. Tom kept these facts 
to himself, however. 

Seeing the royal memory so improved, the earl ventured 
to apply a few tests to it, in an apparently casual way, to find 
out how far its amendment had progressed. The results 
were happy, here and there, in spots — spots where Hum- 
phrey’s tracks remained — and, on the whole, my lord was 
greatly pleased and encouraged. So encouraged was he, 
indeed, that he spoke up and said in a quite hopeful voice: 

“Now am I persuaded that if your majesty will but tax 
your memory yet a little further, it will resolve the puzzle of 
the Great Seal — a loss which was of moment yesterday, 
although of none to-day, since its term of service ended with 
our late lord’s life. May it please your grace to make the 
trial 

Tom was at sea — a Great Seal was a something which he 
was totally unacquainted with. After a moment’s hesita- 
tion he looked up innocently and asked: 

113 


The Prince and the Pauper 

^‘What was it like, my lord?” 

The earl started, almost imperceptibly, muttering to 
himself, ‘‘Alack, his wits are flown again! — it was ill wisdom 
to lead him on to strain them” — then he deftly turned the 
talk to other matters, with the purpose of sweeping the 
unlucky Seal out of Tom’s thoughts — a purpose which 
easily succeeded. 


XV 


TOM AS KING 

T he next day the foreign ambassadors came, with their 
gorgeous trains; and Tom, throned in awful state, 
received them. The splendors of the scene delighted his eye 
and fired his imagination at first, but the audience was long 
and dreary, and so were most of the addresses — wherefore, 
what began as a pleasure, grew into weariness and home- 
sickness by and by. Tom said the words which Hertford 
put into his mouth from time to time, and tried hard to 
acquit himself satisfactorily, but he was too new to such 
things, and too ill at ease to accomplish more than a toler- 
able success. He looked sufficiently like a king, but he was 
ill able to feel like one. He was cordially glad when the 
ceremony was ended. 

The larger part of his day was ‘‘wasted” — as he termed 
it, in his own mind — in labors pertaining to his royal office. 
Even the two hours devoted to certain princely pastimes and 
recreations were rather a burden to him than otherwise, they 
were so fettered by restrictions and ceremonious observ- 
ances. However, he had a private hour with his whipping- 
boy which he counted clear gain, since he got both enter- 
tainment and needful information out of it. 

115 


The Prince and the Pauper 

The third day of Tom Canty’s kingship came and went 
much as the others had done, but there was a lifting of his 
cloud in one way — he felt less uncomfortable than at first; 
he was getting a little used to his circumstances and sur- 
roundings; his chains still galled, but not all the time; he 
found that the presence and homage of the great afflicted 
and embarrassed him less and less sharply with every hour 
that drifted over his head. 

But for one single dread, he could have seen the fourth 
day approach without serious distress — the dining in public; 
it was to begin that day. There were greater matters in the 
program — for on that day he would have to preside at a 
council which would take his views and commands concern- 
ing the policy to be pursued toward various foreign nations 
scattered far and near over the great globe; on that day, too, 
Hertford would be formally chosen to the grand office of 
Lord Protector; other things of note were appointed for 
that fourth day also, but to Tom they were all insignificant 
compared with the ordeal of dining all by himself with a 
multitude of curious eyes fastened upon him and a multi- 
tude of mouths whispering comments upon his performance 
— and upon his mistakes, if he should be so unlucky as to 
make any. 

Still, nothing could stop that fourth day, and so it 
came. 

It found poor Tom low-spirited and absent-minded, and 
this mood continued; he could not shake it off. The ordi- 
nary duties of the morning dragged upon his hands, and 

116 


The Prince and the Pauper 

wearied him. Once more he felt the sense of captivity 
heavy upon him. 

Late in the forenoon he was in a large audience chamber, 
conversing with the Earl of Hertford and duly awaiting the 
striking of the hour appointed for a visit of ceremony from a 
considerable number of great officials and courtiers. 

After a little while Tom, who had wandered to a window 
and become interested in the life and movement of the great 
highway beyond the palace gates — and not idly interested, 
longing with all his heart to take part in person in its stir and 
freedom — saw the van of a hooting and shouting mob of dis- 
orderly men, women, and children of the lowest and poorest 
degree approaching from up the road. 

‘‘I would I knew what ’tis about!” he exclaimed, with 
all a boy’s curiosity in such happenings. 

‘‘Thou art the king!” solemnly responded the earl, with 
a reverence. “Have I your grace’s leave to act.^” 

“Oh, blithely, yes! Oh, gladly, yes!” exclaimed Tom, 
excitedly, adding to himself with a lively sense of satisfac- 
tion, “In truth, being a king is not all dreariness — it hath 
its compensations and conveniences. ” 

The earl called a page, and sent him to the captain of the 
guard with the order: 

“Let the mob be halted, and inquiry made concerning 
the occasion of its movement. By the king’s command!” 

A few seconds later a long rank of the royal guards, 
cased in flashing steel, filed out at the gates and formed 
across the highway in front of the multitude. A messenger 
117 


The Prince and the Pauper 

returned, to report that the crowd were following a man, a 
woman, and a young girl to execution for crimes committed 
against the peace and dignity of the realm. 

Death — and a violent death — for these poor unfortu- 
nates! The thought wrung Tom’s heartstrings. The spirit 
of compassion took control of him, to the exclusion of all 
other considerations; he never thought of the offended laws, 
or of the grief or loss which these three criminals had inflicted 
upon their victims, he could think of nothing but the 
scaffold and the grisly fate hanging over the heads of the 
condemned. His concern made him even forget, for the 
moment, that he was but the false shadow of a king, not 
the substance; and before he knew it he had blurted out the 
command: 

“Bring them here!” 

Then he blushed scarlet, and a sort of apology sprung to 
his lips; but observing that his order had wrought no sort of 
surprise in the earl or the waiting page, he suppressed the 
words he was about to utter. The page, in the most matter- 
of-course way, made a profound obeisance and retired back- 
ward out of the room to deliver the command. Tom 
experienced a glow of pride and a renewed sense of the com- 
pensating advantages of the kingly office. He said to 
himself, “Truly it is like what I used to feel when I read the 
old priest’s tales, and did imagine mine own self a prince, 
giving law and command to all, saying, ‘Do this, do that,’ 
while none durst offer let or hindrance to my will. ” 

Now the doors swung open; one high-sounding title 
118 


The Prince and the Pauper 

after another was announced, the personages owning them 
followed, and the place was quickly half filled with noble 
folk and finery. But Tom was hardly conscious of the 
presence of these people, so wrought up was he and so in- 
tensely absorbed in that other and more interesting matter. 
He seated himself, absently, in his chair of state, and turned 
his eyes upon the door with manifestations of impatient 
expectancy; seeing which, the company forbore to trouble 
him, and fell to chatting a mixture of public business and 
court gossip one with another. 

In a little while the measured tread of military men was 
heard approaching, and the culprits entered the presence in 
charge of an under-sheriff and escorted by a detail of the 
king’s guard. The civil officer knelt before Tom, then stood 
aside; the three doomed persons knelt also, and remained so; 
the guard took position behind Tom’s chair. Tom scanned 
the prisoners curiously. Something about the dress or ap- 
pearance of the man had stirred a vague memory in him. 
“Methinks I have seen this man ere now . . . but the 
when or the where fail me” — such was Tom’s thought. 
Just then the man glanced quickly up, and quickly dropped 
his face again, not being able to endure the awful port of 
sovereignty; but the one full glimpse of the face, which 
Tom got, was sufficient. He said to himself: “Now is the 
matter clear; this is the stranger that plucked Giles Witt out 
of the Thames, and saved his life that windy, bitter first day 
of the new year — a brave, good deed — pity he hath been 
doing baser ones and got himself in this sad case. . . . 

119 


The Prince and the Pauper 

I have not forgot the day, neither the hour; by reason that 
an hour after, upon the stroke of eleven, I did get a hiding 
by the hand of Gammer Canty which was of so goodly and 
admired severity that all that went before or followed after 
it were but fondlings and caresses by comparison. ” 

Tom now ordered that the woman and the girl be re- 
moved from the presence for a little time; then addressed 
himself to the under-sheriff, saying: 

‘‘ Good sir, what is this man’s offense.^ ” 

The officer knelt, and answered : 

“So please your majesty, he hath taken the life of a 
subject by poison. ” 

Tom’s compassion for the prisoner, and admiration of 
him as the daring rescuer of a drowning boy, experienced a 
most damaging shock. 

“The thing was proven upon him.^” he asked. 

“Most clearly, sire.” 

Tom sighed, and said: 

“Take him away — he hath earned his death. ’Tis a 
pity, for he was a brave heart — na — na, I mean he hath the 
look of it!” 

The prisoner clasped his hands together with sudden 
energy, and wrung them despairingly, at the same time 
appealing imploringly to the “king” in broken and terrified 
phrases : 

“Oh, my lord the king, an thou canst pity the lost, have 
pity upon me! I am innocent — neither hath that where- 
with I am charged been more than but lamely proved — yet I 
120 


The Prince and the Pauper 

speak not of that; the judgment is gone forth against me 
and may not suffer alteration; yet in mine extremity I beg a 
boon, for my doom is more than I can bear. A grace, a 
grace, my lord the king! in thy royal compassion grant my 
prayer — give commandment that I be hanged ! ” 

Tom was amazed. This was not the outcome he had 
looked for. 

‘‘Odds my life, a strange boon! Was it not the fate 
intended thee.^” 

“Oh, good my liege, not so! It is ordered that I be 
boiled alive! 

The hideous surprise of these words almost made Tom 
spring from his chair. As soon as he could recover his wits 
he cried out: 

“Have thy wish, poor soul! an thou had poisoned a hun- 
dred men thou shouldst not suffer so miserable a death. ” 

The prisoner bowed his face to the ground and burst 
into passionate expressions of gratitude — ending with: 

“If ever thou shouldst know misfortune — which God 
forbid! — may thy goodness to me this day be remembered 
and requited!’’ 

Tom turned to the Earl of Hertford, and said: 

“My lord, is it believable that there was warrant for this 
man’s ferocious doom.^” 

“It is the law, your grace — for poisoners. In Germany 
coiners be boiled to death in oil — not cast in of a sudden, but 
by a rope let down into the oil by degrees, and slowly; first 

the feet, then the legs, then—” 

121 


The Prince and the Pauper 

"‘Oh, prithee, no more, my lord, I cannot bear it!’’ cried 
Tom, covering his eyes with his hands to shut out the pict- 
ure. “I beseech your good lordship that order be taken to 
change this law — oh, let no more poor creatures be visited 
with its tortures.” 

The earl’s face showed profound gratification, for he was 
a man of merciful and generous impulses — a thing not very 
common with his class in that fierce age. He said : 

“These your grace’s noble words have sealed its doom. 
History will remember it to the honor of your royal 
house. ” 

The under-sheriff was about to remove his prisoner; Tom 
gave him a sign to wait; then he said: 

“Good sir, I would look into this matter further. The 
man has said his deed was but lamely proved. Tell me 
what thou knowest. ” 

“If the king’s grace please, it did appear upon the trial, 
that this man entered into a house in the hamlet of Islington 
where one lay sick — three witnesses say it was at ten of the 
clock in the morning and two say it was some minutes later 
— the sick man being alone at the time, and sleeping — and 
presently the man came forth again, and went his way. 
The sick man died within the hour, being torn with spasm 
and retchings. ” 

“Did any see the poison given? Was poison found?” 

“Marry, no, my liege.” 

“Then how doth one know there was poison given 
at all?” 


122 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“Please your majesty, the doctors testified that none die 
with such symptoms but by poison. ” 

Weighty evidence, this — in that simple age. Tom 
recognized its formidable nature, and said : 

‘‘The doctor knoweth his trade — belike they were right. 
The matter hath an ill look for this poor man. ” 

“Yet was not this all, your majesty; there is more and 
worse. Many testified that a witch, since gone from the 
village, none know whither, did foretell, and speak it pri- 
vately in their ears, that the sick man would die by poison — 
and more, that a stranger would give it — a stranger with 
brown hair and clothed in a worn and common garb; and 
surely this prisoner doth answer woundily to the bill. 
Please, your majesty, to give the circumstance that solemn 
weight which is its due, seeing it was foretold.’’ 

This was an argument of tremendous force, in that super- 
stitious day. Tom felt that the thing was settled; if evi- 
dence was worth anything, this poor fellow’s guilt was 
proved. Still he offered the prisoner a chance, saying: 

“If thou canst say aught in thy behalf, speak.” 
“Naught that will avail, my king. I am innocent, yet 
cannot I make it appear. I have no friends, else might I 
show that I was not in Islington that day; so also might I 
show that at that hour they name I was above a league 
away, seeing I was at Wapping Old Stairs; yea more, my 
king, for I could show, that while they say I was talcing life, I 
was saving it. A drowning boy — ” 

“Peace! Sheriff, name the day the deed was done!” 

123 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“At ten in the morning, or some minutes later, the first 
day of the new year, most illustrious — ’’ 

“ Let the prisoner go free — it is the king’s will ! ” 

Another blush followed this unregal outburst, and he 
covered his indecorum as well as he could by adding : 

“It enrageth me that a man should be hanged upon such 
idle, hare-brained evidence!” 

A low buzz of admiration swept through the assemblage. 
It was not admiration of the decree that had been delivered 
by Tom, for the propriety or expediency of pardoning a con- 
victed poisoner was a thing which few there would have felt 
justified in either admitting or admiring — no, the admira- 
tion was for the intelligence and spirit which Tom had 
displayed. Some of the low-voiced remarks were to this 
effect: 

“This is no mad king — ^he hath his wits sound. ” 

“How sanely he put his questions — how like his former 
natural self was this abrupt, imperious disposal of the 
matter!” 

“God be thanked his infirmity is spent! This is no 
weakling, but a king. He hath borne himself like to his own 
father. ” 

The air being filled with applause, Tom’s ear necessarily 
caught a little of it. The effect which this had upon him 
was to put him greatly at his ease, and also to charge his 
system with very gratifying sensations. 

However, his juvenile curiosity soon rose superior to 
these pleasant thoughts and feelings; he was eager to know 


The Prince and the Pauper 

what sort of deadly mischief the woman and the little girl 
could have been about; so, by his command the two terrified 
and sobbing creatures were brought before him. 

‘‘What is it that these have done.^” he inquired of the 
sheriff. 

“Please your majesty, a black crime is charged upon 
them, and clearly proven; wherefore the judges have de- 
creed, according to the law, that they be hanged. They 
sold themselves to the devil — such is their crime. ” 

Tom shuddered. He had been taught to abhor people 
who did this wicked thing. Still, he was not going to deny 
himself the pleasure of feeding his curiosity, for all that; so 
he asked: 

“Where was this done? — and when?” 

“On a midnight, in December — in a ruined church, 
your majesty. ” 

Tom shuddered again. 

“Who was there present?” 

“Only these tw’o, your grace — and that other, 

“Have these confessed?” 

“Nay, not so, sire — they do deny it. ” 

“Then, prithee, how was it known?” 

“Certain witnesses did see them wending thither, good 
your majesty; this bred the suspicion, and dire effects have 
since confirmed and justified it. In particular, it is in evi- 
dence that through the wicked power so obtained, they did 
invoke and bring about a storm that wasted all the region 
round about. Above forty witnesses have proved the 
125 


The Prince and the Pauper 

storm; and sooth one might have had a thousand, for all had 
reason to remember it, sith all had suffered by it. ” 

‘‘ Certes this is a serious matter. ” Tom turned this dark 
piece of scoundrelism over in his mind awhile, then asked : 

‘‘Suffered the woman, also, by the storm.^’’ 

Several old heads among the assemblage nodded their 
recognition of the wisdom of this question. The sheriff, 
however, saw nothing consequential in the inquiry; he an- 
swered, with simple directness: 

“Indeed did she, your majesty, and most righteously, as 
all aver. Her habitation was swept away, and herself and 
child left shelterless.” 

“ Methinks the power to do herself so ill a turn was dearly 
bought. She had been cheated, had she paid but a farthing 
for it; that she paid her soul, and her child’s, argueth that 
she is mad; if she is mad she knoweth not what she doth, 
therefore sinneth not. ” 

The elderly heads nodded recognition of Tom’s wisdom 
once more, and one individual murmured, “An the king be 
mad himself, according to report, then it is a madness of a 
sort that would improve the sanity of some I wot of, if by the 
gentle providence of God they could but catch it. ” 

“What age hath the child.^^” asked Tom. 

“Nine years, please your majesty.” 

“By the law of England may a child enter into covenant 
and sell itself, my lord?” asked Tom, turning to a learned 
judge. 

“The law doth not permit a child to make or meddle in 
126 


The Prince and the Pauper 

any weighty matter, good my liege, holding that its callow 
wit unfitteth it to cope with the riper wit and evil schemings 
of them that are its elders. The devil may buy a child, if he 
so choose, and the child agree thereto, but not an English- 
man — in this latter case the contract would be null and 
void. ” 

‘‘It seemeth a rude unchristian thing, and ill contrived, 
that English law denieth privileges to Englishmen, to waste 
them on the devil!” cried Tom, with honest heat. 

This novel view of the matter excited many smiles, and 
was stored away in many heads to be repeated about the 
court as evidence of Tom’s originality as well as progress 
toward mental health. 

The elder culprit had ceased from sobbing, and was 
hanging upon Tom’s words with an excited interest and a 
growing hope. Tom noticed this, and it strongly inclined 
his sympathies toward her in her perilous and unfriended 
situation. Presently he asked: 

“How wrought they, to bring the storm?” 

“ By 'pulling off their stockings, sire. ” 

This astonished Tom, and also fired his curiosity to fever 
heat. He said, eagerly: 

“It is wonderful! Hath it always this dread effect?” 

“Always, my liege — at least if the woman desire it, and 
utter the needful words, either in her mind or with her 
tongue. ” 

Tom turned to the woman, and said with impetuous 
zeal: 


9 


127 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“Exert thy power — I would see a storm!” 

There was a sudden paling of cheeks in the superstitious 
assemblage, and a general, though unexpressed, desire to get 
out of the place — all of which was lost upon Tom, who was 
dead to everything but the proposed cataclysm. Seeing a 
puzzled and astonished look in the woman’s face, he added, 
excitedly: 

“Never fear — thou shalt be blameless. More — thou 
shalt go free — none shall touch thee. Exert thy power.” 

“0 my lord the king, I have it not — I have been falsely 
accused. ” 

“ Thy fears stay thee. Be of good heart, thou shalt suffer 
no harm. Make a storm — it mattereth not how small a one 
— I require naught great or harmful, but indeed prefer the 
opposite — do this and thy life is spared — thou shalt go out 
free, with thy child, bearing the king’s pardon, and safe 
from hurt or malice from any in the realm. ” 

The woman prostrated herself, and protested, with tears, 
that she had no power to do the miracle, else she would 
gladly win her child’s life alone, and be content to lose her 
own, if by obedience to the king’s command so precious a 
grace might be acquired. 

Tom urged — the woman still adhered to her declara- 
tions. Finally, he said: 

“I think the woman hath said true. An my mother 
were in her place and gifted with the devil’s functions, she 
had not stayed a moment to call her storms and lay the whole 
land in ruins, if the saving of my forfeit life were the price 
128 


The Prince and the Pauper 

she got! It is argument that other mothers are made in 
like mold. Thou art free, good wife — thou and thy child — 
for I do think thee innocent. Now thou’st naught to fear, 
being pardoned — pull off thy stockings! — an thou canst 
make me a storm, thou shalt be rich!” 

The redeemed creature was loud in her gratitude, and 
proceeded to obey, while Tom looked on with eager expect- 
ancy, a little marred by apprehension; the courtiers at the 
same time manifesting decided discomfort and uneasiness. 
The woman stripped her own feet and her little girl’s also, 
and plainly did her best to reward the king’s generosity with 
an earthquake, but it was all a failure and a disappointment. 
Tom sighed, and said: 

‘‘There, good soul, trouble thyself no further, thy power 
is departed out of thee. Go thy way in peace; and if it 
return to thee at any time, forget me not, but fetch me a 
storm. 

* See Notes to Chapter XV, at end of the volume. 


XVI 


THE STATE DINNER 

T he dinner-hour drew near — yet, strangely enough, the 
thought brought but slight discomfort to Tom, and 
hardly any terror. The morning’s experiences had won- 
derfully built up his confidence; the poor little ash-cat 
was already more wonted to his strange garret, after four 
days’ habit, than a mature person could have become in a 
full month. A child’s facility in accommodating itself to 
circumstances was never more strikingly illustrated. 

Let us privileged ones hurry to the great banqueting-room 
and have a glance at matters there while Tom is being made 
ready for the imposing occasion. It is a spacious apart- 
ment, with gilded pillars and pilasters, and pictured walls 
and ceilings. At the door stand tall guards, as rigid as 
statues, dressed in rich and picturesque costumes, and bear- 
ing halberds. In a high gallery which runs all around the 
place is a band of musicians and a packed company of citi- 
zens of both sexes, in brilliant attire. In the center of the 
room, upon a raised platform, is Tom’s table. Now let the 
ancient chronicler speak: 

“A gentleman enters the room bearing a rod, and along 
130 


The Prince and the Pauper 

with him another bearing a table-cloth, which, after they 
have both kneeled three times with the utmost veneration, 
he spreads upon the table, and after kneeling again they 
both retire; then come two others, one with the rod again, 
the other with a salt-cellar, a plate, and bread; when they 
have kneeled as the others had done, and placed what was 
brought upon the table, they too retire with the same cere- 
monies performed by the first; at last come two nobles, 
richly clothed, one bearing a tasting-knife, who, after pros- 
trating themselves in the most graceful manner, approach 
and rub the table with bread and salt, with as much awe as 
if the king had been present. ” ^ 

So end the solemn preliminaries. Now, far down the 
echoing corridors we hear a bugle-blast, and the indistinct 
cry, ‘‘Place for the king! way for the king’s most excellent 
majesty!” These sounds are momently repeated — they 
grow nearer and nearer — and presently, almost in our faces, 
the martial note peals and the cry rings out, “Way for the 
king!” At this instant the shining pageant appears, and 
files in at the door, with a measured march. Let the chroni- 
cler speak again: 

“First come Gentlemen, Barons, Earls, Knights of the 
Garter, all richly dressed and bareheaded; next comes the 
Chancellor, between two, one of which carries the royal 
scepter, the other the Sword of State in a red scabbard, 
studded with golden fleurs-de-lis, the point upwards; next 
comes the King himself— whom, upon his appearing, twelve 

1 Leigh Hunt’s The Town, p. 408. Quotation from an early tourist. 

131 


The Prince and the Pauper 

trumpets and many drums salute with a great burst of wel- 
come, whilst all in the galleries rise in their places, crying 
‘God save the King!’ After him come nobles attached to 
his person, and on his right and left march his guard of 
honor, his fifty Gentlemen Pensioners, with gilt battle- 
axes. ” 

This was all fine and pleasant. Tom’s pulse beat high 
and a glad light was in his eye. He bore himself right grace- 
fully, and all the more so because he was not thinking of how 
he was doing it, his mind being charmed and occupied with 
the blithe sights and sounds about him — and besides, no- 
body can be very ungraceful in nicely fitting beautiful 
clothes after he has grown a little used to them — especially 
if he is for the moment unconscious of them. Tom remem- 
bered his instructions, and acknowledged his greeting with a 
slight inclination of his plumed head, and a courteous, ‘T 
thank ye, my good people. ” 

He seated himself at table without removing his cap ; and 
did it without the least embarrassment: for to eat with 
one’s cap on was the one solitary royal custom upon which 
the kings and the Cantys met upon common ground, neither 
party having any advantage over the other in the matter of 
old familiarity with it. The pageant broke up and grouped 
itself picturesquely, and remained bareheaded. 

Now, to the sound of gay music, the Yeomen of the 
Guard entered — “the tallest and mightiest men in England, 
they being selected in this regard” — but we will let the 
chronicler tell about it: 


132 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“The Yeomen of the Guard entered bareheaded, clothed 
in scarlet, with golden roses upon their backs; and these 
went and came, bringing in each turn a course of dishes, 
served in plate. These dishes were received by a gentleman 
in the same order they were brought, and placed upon the 
table, while the taster gave to each guard a mouthful to 
eat of the particular dish he had brought, for fear of any 
poison. ” 

Tom made a good dinner, notwithstanding he was con- 
scious that hundreds of eyes followed each morsel to his 
mouth and watched him eat it with an interest which could 
not have been more intense if it had been a deadly explosive 
and was expected to blow him up and scatter him all over 
the place. He was careful not to hurry, and equally careful 
not to do anything whatever for himself, but wait till the 
proper official knelt down and did it for him. He got 
through without a mistake — flawless and precious triumph. 

When the meal was over at last and he marched away 
in the midst of his bright pageant, with the happy noises in 
his ears of blaring bugles, rolling drums, and thundering 
acclamations, he felt that if he had seen the worst of dining 
in public, it was an ordeal which he would be glad to endure 
several times a day if by that means he could but buy him- 
self free from some of the more formidable requirements of 
his royal office. 


XVII 


FOO-FOO THE FIRST 

M iles HENDON hurried along toward the Southwark 
end of the Bridge, keeping a sharp lookout for the per- 
sons he sought, and hoping and expecting to overtake them 
presently. He was disappointed in this, however. By 
asking questions, he was enabled to track them part of the 
way through Southwark; then all traces ceased, and he was 
perplexed as to how to proceed. Still, he continued his 
efforts as best he could during the rest of the day. Night- 
fall found him leg-weary, half famished, and his desire as far 
from accomplishment as ever; so he supped at the Tabard 
inn and went to bed, resolved to make an early start in the 
morning, and give the town an exhaustive search. As he lay 
thinking and planning, he presently began to reason thus: 
The boy would escape from the ruflSian, his reputed father, if 
possible; would he go back to London and seek his former 
haunts No, he would not do that, he would avoid recap- 
ture. What, then, would he do.^ Never having had a 
friend in the world, or a protector, until he met Miles Hen- 
don, he would naturally try to find that friend again, pro- 
vided the effort did not require him to go toward London 
134 


The Prince and the Pauper 

and danger. He would strike for Hendon Hall, that is what 
he would do, for he knew Hendon was homeward bound, and 
there he might expect to find him. Yes, the case was plain 
to Hendon — he must lose no more time in Southwark, but 
move at once through Kent, toward Monk’s Holm, searching 
the wood and inquiring as he went. Let us return to the 
vanished little king now. 

The ruflSan, whom the waiter at the inn on the Bridge 
saw “about to join” the youth and the king, did not exactly 
join them, but fell in close behind them and followed their 
steps. He said nothing. His left arm was in a sling, and he 
wore a large green patch over his left eye; he limped slightly, 
and used an oaken staff as a support. The youth led the king 
a crooked course through Southwark, and by and by struck 
into the highroad beyond. The king was irritated now, 
and said he would stop here — it was Hendon’s place to come 
to him, not his to go to Hendon. He would not endure such 
insolence; he would stop where he was. The youth said: 

“Thou’lt tarry here, and thy friend lying wounded in the 
wood yonder? So be it, then. ” 

The king’s manner changed at once. He cried out: 

“Wounded? And who hath dared to do it? But that 
is apart; lead on, lead on! Faster, sirrah! art shod with 
lead? Wounded, is he? Now though the doer of it be a 
duke’s son, he shall rue it!” 

It was some distance to the wood, but the space was 
speedily traversed. The youth looked about him, discov- 
ered a bough sticking in the ground, with a small bit of rag 
135 


The Prince and the Pauper 

tied to it, then led the way into the forest, watching for 
similar boughs and finding them at intervals; they were 
evidently guides to the point he was aiming at. By and by 
an open place was reached, where were the charred remains 
of a farm-house, and near them a barn which was falling to 
ruin and decay. There was no sign of life anywhere, and 
utter silence prevailed. The youth entered the barn, the 
king following eagerly upon his heels. No one there! The 
king shot a surprised and suspicious glance at the youth, and 
asked : 

‘‘Where is he?’’ 

A mocking laugh was his answer. The king was in a 
rage in a moment; he seized a billet of wood and was in the 
act of charging upon the youth when another mocking laugh 
fell upon his ear. It was from the lame ruffian, who had 
been following at a distance. The king turned and said 
angrily: 

“Who art thou? What is thy business here?” 

“Leave thy foolery,” said the man, “and quiet thyself. 
My disguise is none so good that thou canst pretend thou 
knowest not thy father through it.” 

“Thou art not my father. I know thee not. I am the 
king. If thou hast hid my servant, find him for me, or thou 
shalt sup sorrow for what thou hast done. ” 

John Canty replied, in a stern and measured voice: 

“It is plain thou art mad, and I am loath to punish thee; 
but if thou provoke me, I must. Thy prating doth no harm 
here, where there are no ears that need to mind thy follies, 
136 


The Prince and the Pauper 

yet is it well to practise thy tongue to wary speech, that it 
may do no hurt when our quarters change. I have done a 
murder, and may not tarry at home— neither shalt thou, 
seeing I need thy service. My name is changed, for wise 
reasons; it is Hobbs John Hobbs; thine is Jack — charge 
thy memory accordingly. Now, then, speak. Where is 
thy mother.^^ Where are thy sisters.?^ They came not to the 
place appointed — knowest thou whither they went.^” 

The king answered, sullenly: 

“Trouble me not with these riddles. My mother is 
dead; my sisters are in the palace.” 

The youth near by burst into a derisive laugh, and the 
king would have assaulted him, but Canty — or Hobbs, as he 
now called himself — prevented him, and said : 

“Peace, Hugo, vex him not; his mind is astray, and thy 
ways fret him. Sit thee down. Jack, and quiet thyself; thou 
shalt have a morsel to eat, anon. ” 

Hobbs and Hugo fell to talking together, in low voices, 
and the king removed himself as far as he could from their 
disagreeable company. He withdrew into the twilight of 
the farther end of the barn, where he found the earthen floor 
bedded a foot deep with straw. He lay down here, drew 
straw over himself in lieu of blankets, and was soon absorbed 
in thinking. He had many griefs, but the minor ones were 
swept almost into forgetfulness by the supreme one, the loss 
of his father. To the rest of the world the name of Henry 
VIII. brought a shiver, and suggested an ogre whose nostrils 
breathed destruction and whose hand dealt scourgings and 
137 


The Prince and the Pauper 

death; but to this boy the name brought only sensations of 
pleasure, the figure it invoked wore a countenance that was 
all gentleness and affection. He called to mind a long suc- 
cession of loving passages between his father and himself, 
and dwelt fondly upon them, his unstinted tears attesting 
how deep and real was the grief that possessed his heart. 
As the afternoon wasted away, the lad, wearied with his 
troubles, sunk gradually into a tranquil and healing slumber. 

After a considerable time — he could not tell how long — 
his senses struggled to a half-consciousness, and as he lay 
with closed eyes vaguely wondering where he was and what 
had been happening, he noted a murmurous sound, the sul- 
len beating of rain upon the roof. A snug sense of comfort 
stole over him, which was rudely broken, the next moment, 
by a chorus of piping cackles and coarse laughter. It 
startled him disagreeably, and he unmuflSed his head to see 
whence this interruption proceeded. A grim and unsightly 
picture met his eye. A bright fire was burning in the middle 
of the floor, at the other end of the barn; and around it, and 
lit weirdly up by the red glare, lolled and sprawled the 
motliest company of tattered gutter-scum and ruflians, of 
both sexes, he had ever read or dreamed of. There were 
huge, stalwart men, brown with exposure, long-haired, and 
clothed in fantastic rags; there were middle-sized youths, of 
truculent countenance, and similarly clad; there were blind 
mendicants, with patched or bandaged eyes; crippled ones, 
with wooden legs and crutches; there was a villain-looking 
peddler with his pack; a knife-grinder, a tinker, and a bar- 
138 


The Prince and the Pauper 

ber-surgeon, with the implements of their trades; some of the 
females were hardly grown girls, some were at prime, some 
were old and wrinkled hags, and all were loud, brazen, foul- 
mouthed; and all soiled and slatternly; there were three 
sore-faced babies ; there were a couple of starveling curs, with 
strings about their necks, whose oflSce was to lead the blind. 

The night was come, the gang had just finished feasting, 
an orgy was beginning, the can of liquor was passing from 
mouth to mouth. A general cry broke forth: 

“A song! a song from the Bat and Dick Dot-and-go- 
One!” 

One of the blind men got up, and made ready by casting 
aside the patches that sheltered his excellent eyes, and the 
pathetic placard which recited the cause of his calamity. 
Dot-and-go-One disencumbered himself of his timber leg 
and took his place, upon sound and healthy limbs, beside 
his f ellow’-rascal ; then they roared out a rollicking ditty, 
and were reinforced by the whole crew, at the end of 
each stanza, in a rousing chorus. By the time the last 
stanza was reached, the half-drunken enthusiasm had risen 
to such a pitch that everybody joined in and sang it clear 
through from the beginning, producing a volume of villain- 
ous sound that made the rafters quake. These were the 
inspiring words : 

“Bien Darkmans then. Bouse Mort and Ken, 

The bien Coves bings awast. 

On Chates to trine by Rome Coves dine 
For his Inng lib at last. 

139 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Bing’d out bien Morts and toure, and toure, 

Bing out of the Rome vile bine, 

And toure the Cove that cloy’d your duds. 

Upon the Chates to trine.” ^ 

Conversation followed; not in the thieves’ dialect of the 
song, for that was only used in talk when unfriendly ears 
might be listening. In the course of it it appeared that 
"'John Hobbs” was not altogether a new recruit, but had 
trained in the gang at some former time. His later history 
was called for, and when he said he had "accidentally” 
killed a man, considerable satisfaction was expressed; when 
he added that the man was a priest, he was roundly ap- 
plauded, and had to take a drink with everybody. Old 
acquaintances welcomed him joyously, and new ones 
were proud to shake him by the hand. He was asked 
why he had "tarried away so many months.” He an- 
swered: 

"London is better than the country, and safer these 
late years, the laws be so bitter and so diligently enforced. 
An I had not had that accident, I had stayed there. I 
had resolved to stay, and nevermore venture country- 
wards — but the accident had ended that.” 

He inquired how many persons the gang numbered now. 
The "RuflSier,” or chief, answered: 

"Five and twenty sturdy budges, bulks, files, clapper- 
dogeons and maunders, counting the dells and doxies and 


From “The English Rogue”; London, 1665. 
140 


The Prince and the Pauper 

other morts.i Most are here, the rest are wandering east- 
ward, along the winter lay. We follow at dawn.” 

‘‘I do not see the Wen among the honest folk about me. 
WTiere may he be?” 

“Poor lad, his diet is brimstone now’, and over hot for a 
delicate taste. He was killed in a brawl, somewhere about 
midsummer. ” 

“I sorrow to hear that; the Wen was a capable man, and 
brave. ” 

“That was he, truly. Black Bess, his dell, is of us yet, 
but absent on the eastward tramp ; a fine lass, of nice ways 
and orderly conduct, none ever seeing her drunk above four 
days in the seven.” 

“She was ever strict — I remember it well — a goodly 
wench and worthy all commendation. Her mother was 
more free and less particular; a troublesome and ugly- 
tempered beldame, but furnished with a wit above the 
common. ” 

“We lost her through it. Her gift of palmistry and other 
sorts of fortune-telling begot for her at last a witch’s name 
and fame. The law roasted her to death at a slow fire. It 
did touch me to a sort of tenderness to see the gallant way 
she met her lot — cursing and reviling all the crowd that gaped 
and gazed around her, whilst the flames licked upward tow- 
ard her face and catched her thin locks and crackled about 
her old gray head — cursing them, said I.^ — cursing them! 

^ Canting terms for various kinds of thieves, beggars, and vagabonds and their female 
companions. 


141 


The Prince and the Pauper 

why an thou shouldst live a thousand years thou’dst never 
hear so masterful a cursing. Alack, her art died with her. 
There be base and wealding imitations left, but no true 
blasphemy. ” 

The RuflBier sighed; the listeners sighed in sympathy; a 
general depression fell upon the company for a moment, for 
even hardened outcasts like these are not wholly dead to 
sentiment, but are able to feel a fleeting sense of loss and 
affliction at wide intervals and under peculiarly favoring cir- 
cumstances — as in cases like to this, for instance, when gen- 
ius and culture depart and leave no heir. However, a deep 
drink all round soon restored the spirits of the mourners. 

“Have any other of our friends fared hardly?” asked 
Hobbs. 

“Some — ^yes. Particularly new-comers — such as small 
husbandmen turned shiftless and hungry upon the world 
because their farms were taken from them to be changed to 
sheep-ranges. They begged, and were whipped at the cart’s 
tail, naked from the girdle up, till the blood ran; then set 
in the stocks to be pelted ; they begged again, were whipped 
again, and deprived of an ear; they begged a third time — 
poor devils, what else could they doi^ — and were branded on 
the cheek with a red-hot iron, then sold for slaves; they ran 
away, were hunted down, and hanged. ’Tis a brief tale, and 
quickly told. Others of us have fared less hardly. Stand 
forth. Yokel, Burns, and Hodge — show your adornments!” 

These stood up and stripped away some of their rags, 
exposing their backs, crisscrossed with ropy old welts left by 
142 


The Prince and the Pauper 

the lash; one turned up his hair and showed the place where 
a left ear had once been; another showed a brand upon his 
shoulder — the letter V — and a mutilated ear; the third said: 

“I am Yokel, once a farmer and prosperous, with loving 
wife and kids — now am I somewhat different in estate and 
calling; and the wife and kids are gone; mayhap they are in 
heaven, mayhap in — in the other place — but the kindly God 
be thanked, they bide no more in England! My good old 
blameless mother strove to earn bread by nursing the sick; 
one of these died, the doctors knew not how, so my mother 
was burned for a witch, whilst my babes looked on and 
wailed. English law! — up, all, with your cups! — now all 
together and with a cheer! — drink to the merciful English 
law that delivered her from the English hell! Thank you, 
mates, one and all. I begged, from house to house — I and 
the wife — bearing with us the hungry kids — but it was 
crime to be hungry in England — so they stripped us and 
lashed us through three towns. Drink ye all again to the 
merciful English law ! — for its lash drank deep of my Mary’s 
blood and its blessed deliverance came quick. She lies 
there in the potter’s field, safe from all harms. And the 
kids — well, whilst the law lashed me from town to town, 
they starved. Drink lads — only a drop — a drop to the poor 
kids, that never did any creature harm. I begged again — 
begged for a crust, and got the stocks and lost an ear — see, 
here bides the stump; I begged again, and here is the stump 
of the other to keep me minded of it. And still I begged 
again, and was sold for a slave — here on my cheek under 
lo 143 


The Prince and the Pauper 

this stain, if I washed it off, ye might see the red S the 
branding-iron left there! A slave! Do ye understand 
that word! An English slave! — that is he that stands 
before ye. I have run from my master, and when I am 
found — the heavy curse of heaven fall on the law of the land 
that hath commanded it! — I shall hang!”^ 

A ringing voice came through the murky air: 

“Thou shalt not ! — and this day the end of that law is 
come!” 

All turned, and saw the fantastic figure of the little 
king approaching hurriedly; as it emerged into the light 
and was clearly revealed, a general explosion of inquiries 
broke out: 

“Who is it? What is it? Who art thou, manikin?” 

The boy stood unconfused in the midst of all those sur- 
prised and questioning eyes, and answered with princely 
dignity: 

“I am Edward, king of England.” 

A wild burst of laughter followed, partly of derision and 
partly of delight in the excellence of the joke. The king was 
stung. He said sharply: 

“Ye mannerless vagrants, is this your recognition of the 
royal boon I have promised?” 

He said more, with angry voice and excited gesture, but 
it was lost in a whirlwind of laughter and mocking exclama- 
tions. “John Hobbs” made several attempts to make 
himself heard above the din, and at last succeeded — saying: 

^ See Note 10, at end of the volume. 

144 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“Mates, he is my son, a dreamer, a fool, and stark mad — 
mind him not — he thinketh he is the king. ” 

“I am the king,” said Edward, turning toward him, 
“as thou shalt know to thy cost, in good time. Thou hast 
confessed a murder — thou shalt swing for it. ” 

^^Thou^lt betray me! — thou? An I get my hands upon 
thee—” 

“Tut-tut!” said the burly Ruffler, interposing in time to 
save the king, and emphasizing this service by knocking 
Hobbs down with his fist, “hast respect for neither kings nor 
Rufflers? An thou insult my presence so again. I’ll hang 
thee up myself. ” Then he said to his majesty, “Thou must 
make no threats against thy mates, lad; and thou must 
guard thy tongue from saying evil of them elsewhere. Be 
king, if it please thy mad humor, but be not harmful in it. 
Sink the title thou hast uttered — ’tis treason; we be bad 
men, in some few trifling ways, but none among us is so base 
as to be traitor to his king; we be loving and loyal hearts, in 
that regard. Note if I speak truth. Now — all together: 
‘Long live Edward, king of England!’” 

“Long live Edward, king of England!” 

The response came with such a thunder-gust from the 
motley crew that the crazy building vibrated to the sound. 
The little king’s face lighted with pleasure for an instant, 
and he slightly inclined his head and said with grave sim- 
plicity: 

“I thank you, my good people.” 

This unexpected result threw the company into convul- 
145 


The Prince and the Pauper 

sions of merriment. When something like quiet was pres- 
ently come again, the Ruffler said, firmly, but with an accent 
of good nature: 

“ Drop it, boy, ’tis not wise, nor well. Humor thy fancy, 
if thou must, but choose some other title. ” 

A tinker shrieked out a suggestion: 

‘‘Foo-foo the First, king of the Mooncalves!’’ 

The title ‘‘took” at once, every throat responded, and a 
roaring shout went up, of : 

“Long live Foo-foo the First, king of the Mooncalves!” 
followed by hootings, catcalls, and peals of laughter. 

“Hale him forth, and crown him!” 

“Robe him!” 

“Scepter him!” 

“Throne him!” 

These and twenty other cries broke out at once; and 
almost before the poor little victim could draw a breath he 
was crowned with a tin basin, robed in a tattered blanket, 
throned upon a barrel, and sceptered with the tinker’s 
soldering-iron. Then all flung themselves upon their knees 
about him and sent up a chorus of ironical wailings, and 
mocking supplications, while they swabbed their eyes with 
their soiled and ragged sleeves and aprons: 

“Be gracious to us, O sweet king!” 

“Trample not upon thy beseeching worms, O noble 
majesty!” 

“Pity thy slaves, and comfort them with a royal 
kick!” 


146 


The Prince and the Pauper 

‘‘ Cheer us and warm us with thy gracious rays, 0 flaming 
sun of sovereignty!” 

‘‘Sanctify the ground with the touch of thy foot, that we 
may eat the dirt and be ennobled!” 

“Deign to spit upon us, O sire, that our children’s chil- 
dren may tell of thy princely condescension, and be proud 
and happy forever!” 

But the humorous tinker made the “hit” of the evening 
and carried off the honors. Kneeling, he pretended to kiss 
the king’s foot, and was indignantly spurned; whereupon he 
went about begging for a rag to paste over the place upon 
his face which had been touched by the foot, saying it must 
be preserved from contact with the vulgar air, and that he 
should make his fortune by going on the highway and expos- 
ing it to view at the rate of a hundred shillings a sight. He 
made himself so killingly funny that he was the envy and 
admiration of the whole mangy rabble. 

Tears of shame and indignation stood in the little 
monarch’s eyes; and the thought in his heart was, “Had I 
offered them a deep wrong they could not be more cruel — 
yet have I proffered naught but to do them a kindness — and 
it is thus they use me for it!” 


XVIII 


THE PRINCE WITH THE TRAMPS 

T he troop of vagabonds turned out at early dawn, and 
set forward on their march. There was a lowering 
sky overhead, sloppy ground under foot, and a winter chill 
in the air. All gaiety was gone from the company; some 
were sullen and silent, some were irritable and petulant, 
none were gentle-humored, all were thirsty. 

The Ruj03er put ‘‘Jack” in Hugo’s charge, with some 
brief instructions, and commanded John Canty to keep 
away from him and let him alone; he also warned Hugo not 
to be too rough with the lad. 

After a while the weather grew milder, and the clouds 
lifted somewhat. The troop ceased to shiver, and their 
spirits began to improve. They grew more and more 
cheerful, and finally began to chaff each other and insult 
passengers along the highway. This showed that they were 
awaking to an appreciation of life and its joys once more. 
The dread in which their sort was held was apparent in the 
fact that everybody gave them the road, and took their 
ribald insolences meekly, without venturing to talk back. 
They snatched linen from the hedges, occasionally, in full 

148 



THE RUFFLER PUT “jACK” IN HUGO’s CHARGE 














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The Prince and the Pauper 

view of the owners, who made no protest, but only seemed 
grateful that they did not take the hedges, too. 

By and hy they invaded a small farm-house and made 
themselves at home while the trembling farmer and his 
people swept the larder clean to furnish a breakfast for them. 
They chucked the housewife and her daughters under 
the chin while receiving the food from their hands, and made 
coarse jests about them, accompanied with insulting epithets 
and bursts of horse-laughter. They threw bones and vege- 
tables at the farmer and his sons, kept them dodging all the 
time, and applauded uproariously when a good hit was 
made. They ended by buttering the head of one of the 
daughters who resented some of their familiarities. When 
they took their leave they threatened to come back and 
burn the house over the heads of the family if any report of 
their doings got to the ears of the authorities. 

About noon, after a long and weary tramp, the gang 
came to a halt behind a hedge on the outskirts of a consider- 
able village. An hour was allowed for rest, then the crew 
scattered themselves abroad to enter the village at different 
points to ply their various trades. ‘‘Jack’’ was sent with 
Hugo. They wandered hither and thither for some time, 
Hugo watching for opportunities to do a stroke of business 
but finding none — so he finally said: 

“I see naught to steal; it is a paltry place. Wherefore 
we will beg. ” 

forsooth! Follow thy trade — it befits thee. But 
I will not beg. ” 


The Prince and the Pauper 

'‘Thou’lt not beg!” exclaimed Hugo, eying the king 
with surprise. ‘‘Prithee, since when hast thou reformed.^” 

“What dost thou mean?” 

“Mean? Hast thou not begged the streets of London 
all thy life?” 

“I? Thou idiot!” 

“Spare thy compliments — thy stock will last the longer. 
Thy father says thou hast begged all thy days. Mayhap he 
lied. Peradventure you will even make so bold as to say 
he lied, ” scoffed Hugo. 

“Him you call my father? Yes, he lied.” 

“Come, play not thy merry game of madman so far, 
mate; use it for thy amusement, not thy hurt. An I tell 
him this, he will scorch thee finely for it. ” 

“Save thyself the trouble. I will tell him.” 

“I like thy spirit, I do in truth; but I do not admire thy 
judgment. Bone-rackings and bastings be plenty enow in 
this life, without going out of one’s way to invite them. 
But a truce to these matters; I believe your father. I 
doubt not he can lie; I doubt not he doth lie, upon occasion, 
for the best of us do that; but there is no occasion here. A 
wise man does not waste so good a commodity as lying for 
naught. But come; sith it is thy humor to give over beg- 
ging, wherewithal shall we busy ourselves? With robbing 
kitchens?” 

The king said, impatiently: 

“Have done with this folly — you weary me!” 

Hugo replied, with temper: 

150 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“Now harkee, mate; you will not beg, you will not rob; 
so be it. But I will tell you what you will do. You will 
play decoy whilst I beg. Refuse, an you think you may 
venture!’’ 

The king was about to reply contemptuously, when 
Hugo said, interrupting: 

“Peace! Here comes one with a kindly face. Now 
will I fall down in a fit. When the stranger runs to me, set 
you up a wail, and fall upon your knees, seeming to weep; 
then cry out as if all the devils of misery were in your belly, 
and say, ‘Oh, sir, it is my poor afflicted brother, and we be 
friendless; o’ God’s name cast through your merciful eyes 
one pitiful look upon a sick, forsaken, and most miserable 
wretch; bestow one little penny out of thy riches upon one 
smitten of God and ready to perish!’ — and mind you, keep 
you on wailing, and abate not till we bilk him of his penny, 
else shall you rue it. ” 

Then immediately Hugo began to moan, and groan, and 
roll his eyes, and reel and totter about; and when the stran- 
ger was close at hand, down he sprawled before him, with a 
shriek, and began to writhe and wallow in the dirt, in seem- 
ing agony. 

“0 dear, O dear!” cried the benevolent stranger. “Oh, 
poor soul, poor soul, how he doth suffer! There — ^let me 
help thee up.” 

“O, noble sir, forbear, and God love you for a princely 
gentleman — but it giveth me cruel pain to touch me when I 
am taken so. My brother there will tell your worship how I 

15X 


The Prince and the Pauper 

am racked with anguish when these fits be upon me. A 
penny, dear sir, a penny, to buy a little food; then leave me 
to my sorrows.” 

‘‘A penny! thou shalt have three, thou hapless creature” 
— and he fumbled in his pocket with nervous haste and got 
them out. “There, poor lad, take them, and most welcome. 
Now come hither, my boy, and help me carry thy stricken 
brother to yon house, where — ” 

“I am not his brother,” said the king, interrupting. 

“What! not his brother 

“Oh, hear him!” groaned Hugo, then privately ground 
his teeth. “He denies his own brother — and he with one 
foot in the grave!” 

“Boy, thou art indeed hard of heart, if this is thy broth- 
er. For shame ! — and he scarce able to move hand or foot. 
If he is not thy brother, who is he, then.^” 

“A beggar and a thief! He has got your money and has 
picked your pocket likewise. An thou wouldst do a healing 
miracle, lay thy staff over his shoulders and trust Providence 
for the rest. ” 

But Hugo did not tarry for the miracle. In a moment 
he was up and off like the wind, the gentleman following 
after and raising the hue and cry lustily as he went. The 
king, breathing deep gratitude to Heaven for his own re- 
lease, fled in the opposite direction and did not slacken his 
pace until he was out of harm’s reach. He took the first 
road that offered, and soon put the village behind him. 
He hurried along, as briskly as he could, during several 
152 


The Prince and the Pauper 

hours, keeping a nervous watch over his shoulder for pur- 
suit; but his fears left him at last, and a grateful sense of 
security took their place. He recognized now that he was 
hungry; and also very tired. So he halted at a farm-house; 
but when he was about to speak, he was cut short and driven 
rudely away. His clothes were against him. 

He wandered on, wounded and indignant, and was re- 
solved to put himself in the way of light treatment no more. 
But hunger is pride’s master; so as the evening drew near, he 
made an attempt at another farm-house; but here he fared 
worse than before; for he was called hard names and was 
promised arrest as a vagrant except he moved on promptly. 

The night came on, chilly and overcast; and still the 
footsore monarch labored slowly on. He was obliged to 
keep moving, for every time he sat down to rest he was soon 
penetrated to the bone with the cold. All his sensations 
and experiences, as he moved through the solemn gloom and 
the empty vastness of the night, were new and strange to 
him. At intervals he heard voices approach, pass by, and 
fade into silence; and as he saw nothing more of the bodies 
they belonged to than a sort of formless drifting blur, there 
was something spectral and uncanny about it all that made 
him shudder. Occasionally he caught the twinkle of a 
light — always far away, apparently — almost in another 
world; if he heard the tinkle of a sheep’s bell, it was vague, 
distant, indistinct; the muffled lowing of the herds floated to 
him on the night wind in vanishing cadences, a mournful 
sound; now and then came the complaining howl of a dog 

153 


The Prince and the Pauper 

over viewless expanses of field and forest; all sounds were 
remote; they made the little king feel that all life and activi- 
ty were far removed from him, and that he stood solitary, 
companionless, in the center of a measureless solitude. 

He stumbled along, through the gruesome fascinations of 
this new experience, startled occasionally by the soft rust- 
ling of the dry leaves overhead, so like human whispers they 
seemed to sound; and by and by he came suddenly upon the 
freckled light of a tin lantern near at hand. He stepped 
back into the shadows and waited. The lantern stood by 
the open door of a barn. The king waited some time — there 
was no sound, and nobody stirring. He got so cold, stand- 
ing still, and the hospitable barn looked so enticing, that at 
last he resolved to risk everything and enter. He started 
swiftly and stealthily, and just as he was crossing the thresh- 
old he heard voices behind him. He darted behind a cask, 
within the barn, and stooped down. Two farm laborers 
came in, bringing the lantern with them, and fell to work, 
talking meanwhile. Whilst they moved about with the 
light, the king made good use of his eyes and took the bear- 
ings of what seemed to be a good-sized stall at the further 
end of the place, purposing to grope his way to it when he 
should be left to himself. He also noted the position of a 
pile of horse-blankets, midway of the route, with the intent 
to levy upon them for the service of the crown of England 
for one night. 

By and by the men finished and went away, fastening 
the door behind them and taking the lantern with them. 

154 


The Prince and the Pauper 

The shivering king made for the blankets, with as good 
speed as the darkness would allow; gathered them up and 
then groped his way safely to the stall. Of two of the blan- 
kets he made a bed, then covered himself with the remaining 
two. He was a glad monarch now, though the blankets 
were old and thin, and not quite warm enough ; and besides 
gave out a pungent horsy odor that was almost suffocatingly 
powerful. 

Although the king was hungry and chilly, he was also so 
tired and so drowsy that these latter influences soon began 
to get the advantage of the former, and he presently dozed 
off into a state of semi-consciousness. Then, just as he was 
on the point of losing himself wholly, he distinctly felt 
something touch him! He was broad awake in a moment, 
and gasping for breath. The cold horror of that mysterious 
touch in the dark almost made his heart stand still. He lay 
motionless, and listened, scarcely breathing. But nothing 
stirred, and there was no sound. He continued to listen, 
and wait, during what seemed a long time, but still nothing 
stirred, and there was no sound. So he began to drop into a 
drowse once more at last; and all at once he felt that myste- 
rious touch again! It was a grisly thing, this light touch 
from this noiseless and invisible presence; it made the boy 
sick with ghostly fears. What should he do? That was the 
question; but he did not know how to answer it. Should he 
leave these reasonably comfortable quarters and fly from 
this inscrutable horror But fly whither? He could not get 
out of the barn; and the idea of scurrying blindly hither and 

155 


The Prince and the Pauper 

thither in the dark, within the captivity of the four walls, 
with this phantom gliding after him, and visiting him with 
that soft hideous touch upon cheek or shoulder at every 
turn, was intolerable. But to stay where he was, and en- 
dure this living death all night — was that better? No. 
What, then, was there left to do? Ah, there was but one 
course; he knew it well — he must put out his hand and find 
that thing! 

It was easy to think this; but it was hard to brace him- 
self up to try it. Three times he stretched his hand a little 
way out into the dark gingerly; and snatched it suddenly 
back, with a gasp — not because it had encountered anything, 
but because he had felt so sure it was just going to. But the 
fourth time he groped a little further, and his hand lightly 
swept against something soft and warm. This petrified 
him nearly with fright — his mind was in such a state that he 
could imagine the thing to be nothing else than a corpse, 
newly dead and still warm. He thought he would rather 
die than touch it again. But he thought this false thought 
because he did not know the immortal strength of human 
curiosity. In no long time has hand was tremblingly grop- 
ing again — against his judgment, and without his consent — 
but groping persistently on, just the same. It encountered 
a bunch of long hair; he shuddered, but followed up the hair 
and found what seemed to be a warm rope; followed up the 
rope and found an innocent calf! — for the rope was not a 
rope at all, but the calf’s tail. 

The king was cordially ashamed of himself for having 
156 


The Prince and the Pauper 

gotten all that fright and misery out of so paltry a matter as 
a slumbering calf; but he need not have felt so about it, for 
it was not the calf that frightened him but a dreadful non- 
existent something which the calf stood for; and any other 
boy, in those old superstitious times, would have acted and 
suffered as he had done. 

The king was not only delighted to find that the creature 
was only a calf, but delighted to have the calf’s company; 
for he had been feeling so lonesome and friendless that the 
company and comradeship of even this humble animal was 
welcome. And he had been so buffeted, so rudely entreated 
by his own kind, that it was a real comfort to him to feel 
that he was at last in the society of a fellow-creature that 
had at least a soft heart and a gentle spirit, whatever loftier 
attributes might be lacking. So he resolved to waive rank 
and make friends with the calf. 

While stroking its sleek, warm back — ^for it lay near him 
and within easy reach — it occurred to him that this calf 
might be utilized in more ways than one. Whereupon he 
rearranged his bed, spreading it down close to the calf; then 
he cuddled himself up to the calf’s back, drew the covers up 
over himself and his friend, and in a minute or two was as 
warm and comfortable as he had ever been in the downy 
couches of the regal palace of Westminster. 

Pleasant thoughts came at once; life took on a cheerfuler 
seeming. He was free of the bonds of servitude and crime, 
free of the companionship of base and brutal outlaws; he 
was warm, he was sheltered; in a word, he was happy. The 

157 


The Prince and the Pauper 

night wind was rising; it swept by in fitful gusts that made 
the old barn quake and rattle, then its forces died down at 
intervals, and went moaning and wailing around corners and 
projections — ^but it was all music to the king, now that he 
was snug and comfortable; let it blow and rage, let it batter 
and bang, let it moan and wail, he minded it not, he only 
enjoyed it. He merely snuggled the closer to his friend, in a 
luxury of warm contentment, and drifted blissfully out of 
consciousness into a deep and dreamless sleep that was full 
of serenity and peace. The distant dogs howled, the melan- 
choly kine complained, and the winds went on raging, whilst 
furious sheets of rain drove along the roof; but the majesty 
of England slept on undisturbed, and the calf did the same, 
it being a simple creature and not easily troubled by storms 
or embarrassed by sleeping with a king. 


XIX 


THE PRINCE WITH THE PEASANTS 

W HEN the king awoke in the early morning, he found 
that a wet but thoughtful rat had crept into the place 
during the night and made a cozy bed for itself in his bosom. 
Being disturbed now, it scampered away. The boy smiled, 
and said, ‘‘Poor fool, why so fearful.^^ I am as forlorn as 
thou. ’Twould be a shame in me to hurt the helpless, who 
am myself so helpless. Moreover, I owe you thanks for a 
good omen; for when a king has fallen so low that the very 
rats do make a bed of him, it surely meaneth that his for- 
tunes be upon the turn, since it is plain he can no lower go. ” 
He got up and stepped out of the stall, and just then he 
heard the sound of children’s voices. The barn door opened 
and a couple of little girls came in. As soon as they saw 
him their talking and laughing ceased, and they stopped and 
stood still, gazing at him with strong curiosity; they present- 
ly began to whisper together, then they approached nearer, 
and stopped again to gaze and whisper. By and by they 
gathered courage and began to discuss him aloud. One 
said: 

“He hath a comely face.’’ 

159 


II 


The Prince and the Pauper 

The other added: 

“And pretty hair.” 

“But is ill clothed enow. ” 

“And how starved he looketh. ” 

They came still nearer, sidling shyly around and about 
him, examining him minutely from all points, as if he were 
some strange new kind of animal; but warily and watchfully 
the while, as if they half feared he might be a sort of animal 
that would bite, upon occasion. Finally they halted before 
him, holding each other’s hands for protection, and took a 
good satisfying stare with their innocent eyes; then one of 
them plucked up all her courage and inquired with honest 
directness : 

“Who art thou, boy?” 

“I am the king,” was the grave answer. 

The children gave a little start, and their eyes spread 
themselves wide open and remained so during a speechless 
half -minute. Then curiosity broke the silence: 

“The king? What king?” 

“The king of England.” 

The children looked at each other — then at him — then 
at each other again — wonderingly, perplexedly — then one 
said: 

“Didst hear him, Margery? — he saith he is the king. 
Can that be true?” 

“How can it be else but true, Prissy? Would he say a 
lie? For look you. Prissy, an it were not true, it would be a 
lie. It surely would be. Now think on’t. For all things 
160 


The Prince and the Pauper 

that be not true, be lies — thou canst make naught else out 
of it.” 

It was a good, tight argument, without a leak in it any- 
where; and it left Prissy’s half -doubts not a leg to stand on. 
She considered a moment, then put the king upon his honor 
with the simple remark: 

“If thou art truly the king, then I believe thee.” 

“I am truly the king.” 

This settled the matter. His majesty’s royalty was 
accepted without further question or discussion, and the 
two little girls began at once to inquire into how he came to 
be where he was, and how he came to be so unroyally clad, 
and whither he was bound, and all about his affairs. It was 
a mighty relief to him to pour out his troubles where they 
w^ould not be scoffed at or doubted; so he told his tale with 
feeling, forgetting even his hunger for the time; and it was 
received with the deepest and tenderest sympathy by the 
gentle little maids. But when he got down to his latest 
experiences and they learned how long he had been without 
food, they cut him short and hurried him away to the farm- 
house to find a breakfast for him. 

The king was cheerful and happy now, and said to him- 
self, “When I am come to mine own again, I will always 
honor little children, remembering how that J;hese trusted 
me and believed in me in my time of trouble; whilst they 
that were older, and thought themselves wiser, mocked at 
me and held me for a liar. ” 

The children’s mother received the king kindly, and was 
161 


The Prince and the Pauper 

full of pity; for his forlorn condition and apparently crazed 
intellect touched her womanly heart. She was a widow, 
and rather poor; consequently she had seen trouble enough 
to enable her to feel for the unfortunate. She imagined 
that the demented boy had wandered away from his friends 
or keepers; so she tried to find out whence he had come, in 
order that she might take measures to return him; but all 
her references to neighboring towns and villages, and all her 
inquiries in the same line, went for nothing — the boy’s face, 
and his answers, too, showed that the things she was talking 
of were not familiar to him. He spoke earnestly and simply 
about court matters ; and broke down, more than once, when 
speaking of the late king ‘‘his father”; but whenever the 
conversation changed to baser topics, he lost interest and 
became silent. 

The woman was mightily puzzled; but she did not give 
up. As she proceeded with her cooking, she set herself 
to contriving devices to surprise the boy into betraying 
his real secret. She talked about cattle — he showed no 
concern; then about sheep — the same result — so her guess 
that he had been a shepherd boy was an error; she talked 
about mills; and about weavers, tinkers, smiths, trades and 
tradesmen of all sorts; and about Bedlam, and jails, and 
charitable retreats; but no matter, she was baffled at all 
points. Not altogether, either; for she argued that she had 
narrowed the thing down to domestic service. Yes, she was 
sure she was on the right track now — he must have been a 
house-servant. So she led up to that. But the result was 
162 


The Prince and the Pauper 

discouraging. The subject of sweeping appeared to weary 
him; fire-building failed to stir him; scrubbing and scouring 
awoke no enthusiasm. Then the goodwife touched, with 
a perishing hope, and rather as a matter of form, upon the 
subject of cooking. To her surprise, and her vast delight, 
the king’s face lighted at once! Ah, she had hunted him 
down at last, she thought; and she was right proud, too, of 
the devious shrewdness and tact which had accomplished it. 

Her tired tongue got a chance to rest now; for the king’s, 
inspired by gnawing hunger and the fragrant smells that 
came from the sputtering pots and pans, turned itself loose 
and delivered itself up to such an eloquent dissertation upon 
certain toothsome dishes, that within three minutes the 
woman said to herself, ‘'Of a truth I was right — he hath 
holpen in a kitchen!” Then he broadened his bill of fare, 
and discussed it with such appreciation and animation, that 
the goodwife said to herself, “ Good lack ! how can he know so 
many dishes, and so fine ones withal.^ For these belong 
only upon the tables of the rich and great. Ah, now I see! 
ragged outcast as he is, he must have served in the palace 
before his reason went astray; yes, he must have helped in 
the very kitchen of the king himself! I will test him. ” 

Full of eagerness to prove her sagacity, she told the king 
to mind the cooking a moment — hinting that he might man- 
ufacture and add a dish or two, if he chose — then she went 
out of the room and gave her children a sign to follow after. 
The king muttered: 

“Another English king had a commission like to this, in a 
163 


The Prince and the Pauper 

bygone time — it is nothing against my dignity to undertake 
an office which the great Alfred stooped to assume. But I 
will try to better serve my trust than he; for he let the cakes 
burn. ” 

The intent was good, but the performance was not an- 
swerable to it; for this king, like the other one, soon fell into 
deep thinkings concerning his vast affairs, and the same 
calamity resulted — the cookery got burned. The woman 
returned in time to save the breakfast from entire destruc- 
tion; and she promptly brought the king out of his dreams 
with a brisk and cordial tongue-lashing. Then, seeing how 
troubled he was over his violated trust, she softened at once 
and was all goodness and gentleness toward him. 

The boy made a hearty and satisfying meal, and was 
greatly refreshed and gladdened by it. It was a meal which 
was distinguished by this curious feature, that rank was 
waived on both sides; yet neither recipient of the favor was 
aware that it had been extended. The goodwife had intend- 
ed to feed this young tramp with broken victuals in a corner, 
like any other tramp, or like a dog; but she was so remorse- 
ful for the scolding she had given him, that she did what she 
could to atone for it by allowing him to sit at the family 
table and eat with his betters, on ostensible terms of equality 
with them; and the king, on his side, was so remorseful for 
having broken his trust, after the family had been so kind 
to him, that he forced himself to atone for it by humbling 
himself to the family level, instead of requiring the woman 
and her children to stand and wait upon him while he occu- 

164 


The Prince and the Pauper 

pied their table in the solitary state due his birth and dig- 
nity. It does us all good to unbend sometimes. This good 
woman was made happy all the day long by the applauses 
she got out of herself for her magnanimous condescension to 
a tramp; and the king was just as self-complacent over his 
gracious humility toward a humble peasant woman. 

When breakfast was over, the housewife told the king to 
wash up the dishes. This command was a staggerer for a 
moment, and the king came near rebelling; but then he said 
to himself, ‘‘Alfred the Great watched the cakes; doubtless 
he would have washed the dishes, too — therefore will I 
essay it.” 

He made a sufficiently poor job of it; and to his surprise, 
too, for the cleaning of wooden spoons and trenchers had 
seemed an easy thing to do. It was a tedious and trouble- 
some piece of work, but he finished it at last. He was be- 
coming impatient to get away on his journey now; however, 
he was not to lose this thrifty dame’s sodety so easily. She 
furnished him some little odds and ends of employment, 
which he got through with after a fair fashion and with 
some credit. Then she set him and the little girls to paring 
some winter apples; but he was so awkward at this service 
that she retired him from it and gave him a butcher-knife 
to grind. Afterward she kept him carding wool until he 
began to think he had laid the good King Alfred about far 
enough in the shade for the present, in the matter of showy 
menial heroisms that would read picturesquely in story- 
books and histories, and so he was half minded to resign. 

165 


The Prince and the Pauper 

And when, just after the noonday dinner, the goodwife gave 
him a basket of kittens to drown, he did resign. At least 
he was just going to resign — ^for he felt that he must draw 
the line somewhere, and it seemed to him that to draw it at 
kitten-drowning was about the right thing — when there was 
an interruption. The interruption was John Canty — with a 
peddler’s pack on his back — and Hugo ! 

The king discovered these rascals approaching the front 
gate before they had had a chance to see him; so he said 
nothing about drawing the line, but took up his basket of 
kittens and stepped quietly out the back way, without a 
word. He left the creatures in an outhouse, and hurried on 
into a narrow lane at the rear. 


XX 


THE PRINCE AND THE HERMIT 

T he high hedge hid him from the house now; and so, 
under the impulse of a deadly fright, he let out all his 
forces and sped toward a wood in the distance. He never 
looked back until he had almost gained the shelter of the 
forest; then he turned and descried two figures in the dis- 
tance. That was sufficient; he did not wait to scan them 
critically, but hurried on, and never abated his pace till he 
was far within the twilight depths of the wood. Then he 
stopped, being persuaded that he was now tolerably safe. 
He listened intently, but the stillness was profound and 
solemn — awful, even, and depressing to the spirits. At wide 
intervals his straining ear did detect sounds, but they were 
so remote, and hollow, and mysterious, that they seemed not 
to be real sounds, but only the moaning and complaining 
ghosts of departed ones. So the sounds were yet more 
dreary than the silence which they interrupted. 

It was his purpose, in the beginning, to stay where he 
was, the rest of the day; but a chill soon invaded his per- 
spiring body, and he was at last obliged to resume move- 
ment in order to get warm. He struck straight through the 
forest, hoping to pierce to a road presently, but he was dis- 

167 


The Prince and the Pauper 

appointed in this. He traveled on and on; but the farther 
he went, the denser the wood became, apparently. The 
gloom began to thicken, by and by, and the king realized 
that the night was coming on. It made him shudder to 
think of spending it in such an uncanny place; so he tried to 
hurry faster, but he only made the less speed, for he could 
not now see well enough to choose his steps judiciously; 
consequently he kept tripping over roots and tangling him- 
self in vines and briers. 

And how glad he was when at last he caught the glimmer 
of a light ! He approached it warily, stopping often to look 
about him and listen. It came from an unglazed window- 
opening in a little hut. He heard a voice now, and felt a 
disposition to run and hide; but he changed his mind at 
once, for this voice was praying, evidently. He glided to 
the one window of the hut, raised himself on tiptoe, and stole 
a glance within. The room was small; its floor was the 
natural earth, beaten hard by use; in a corner was a bed of 
rushes and a ragged blanket or two; near it was a pail, a cup, 
basin, and two or three pots and pans; there was a short 
bench and a three-legged stool; on the hearth the remains of 
a fagot fire were smoldering; before a shrine, which was 
lighted by a single candle, knelt an aged man, and on an old 
wooden box at his side lay an open book and a human skull. 
The man was of large, bony frame; his hair and whiskers 
were very long and snowy white; he was clothed in a 
robe of sheepskins which reached from his neck to his 
heels. 


168 


The Prince and the Pauper 

A holy hermit!” said the king to himself; ‘‘now am I 
indeed fortunate.” 

The hermit rose from his knees; the king knocked. A 
deep voice responded: 

“Enter! — but leave sin behind, for the ground whereon 
thou shalt stand is holy!” 

The king entered, and paused. The hermit turned a 
pair of gleaming, unrestful eyes upon him, and said: 

“Who art thou.?” 

“I am the king,” came the answer, with placid sim- 
plicity. 

“Welcome, king!” cried the hermit, with enthusiasm. 
Then, bustling about with feverish activity, and constantly 
saying “Welcome, welcome,” he arranged his bench, seated 
the king on it, by the hearth, threw some fagots on the fire, 
and finally fell to pacing the floor, with a nervous stride. 

“Welcome! Many have sought sanctuary here, but 
they were not worthy, and were turned away. But a king 
who casts his crown away, and despises the vain splendors of 
his oflSce, and clothes his body in rags, to devote his life to 
holiness and the mortification of the flesh — he is worthy, he 
is welcome! — here shall he abide all his days till death 
come.” The king hastened to interrupt and explain, but 
the hermit paid no attention to him — did not even hear him, 
apparently, but went right on with his talk, with a raised 
voice and a growing energy. “And thou shalt be at peace 
here. None shall find out thy refuge to disquiet thee with 
supplications to return to that empty and foolish life which 

169 


The Prince and the Pauper 

God Lath moved thee to abandon. Thou shalt pray here; 
thou shalt study the Book; thou shalt meditate upon the 
follies and delusions of this world, and upon the sublimities 
of the world to come; thou shalt feed upon crusts and herbs, 
and scourge thy body with whips daily, to the purifying of 
thy soul. Thou shalt wear a hair shirt next thy skin; thou 
shalt drink water only; and thou shalt be at peace; yes,wholIy 
at peace; for whoso comes to seek thee shall go his way again 
baffled; he shall not find thee, he shall not molest thee. ” 

The old man, still pacing back and forth, ceased to speak 
aloud, and began to mutter. The king seized this oppor- 
tunity to state his case; and he did it with an eloquence 
inspired by uneasiness and apprehension. But the hermit 
went on muttering, and gave no heed. And still muttering, 
he approached the king and said, impressively: 

“’Sh! I will tell you a secret!” He bent down to im- 
part it, but checked himself, and assumed a listening atti- 
tude. After a moment or two he went on tiptoe to the 
window-opening, put his head out and peered around in the 
gloaming, then came tiptoeing back again, put his face close 
down to the king’s and whispered: 

‘T am an archangel!” 

The king started violently, and said to himself, “Would 
God I were with the outlaws again; for lo, now am 
I the prisoner of a madman!” His apprehensions were 
heightened, and they showed plainly in his face. In a low, 
excited voice, the hermit continued : 

“I see you feel my atmosphere! There’s awe in your 
170 


The Prince and the Pauper 

face! None may be in this atmosphere and not be thus 
affected; for it is the very atmosphere of heaven. I go 
thither and return, in the twinkling of an eye. I was made 
an archangel on this very spot, it is five years ago, by angels 
sent from heaven to confer that awful dignity. Their pres- 
ence filled this place with an intolerable brightness. And 
they knelt to me, king! yes, they knelt to me! for I was 
greater than they. I have walked in the courts of heaven, 
and held speech with the patriarchs. Touch my hand — be 
not afraid — touch it. There — now thou hast touched a 
hand which has been clasped by Abraham, and Isaac, and 
Jacob ! For I have walked in the golden courts, I have seen 
the Deity face to face!” He paused, to give this speech 
effect; then his face suddenly changed, and he started to his 
feet again, saying, wdth angry energy, ‘‘Yes, I am an arch- 
angel; a mere archangel ! — I that might have been pope! It 
is verily true. I was told it from heaven in a dream, twenty 
years ago; ah, yes, I was to be pope! — and I should have been 
pope, for Heaven had said it — ^but the king dissolved my 
religious house, and I, poor obscure unfriended monk, was 
cast homeless upon the world, robbed of my mighty des- 
tiny!” Here he began to mumble again, and beat his fore- 
head in futile rage, with his fist, now and then articulating 
a venomous curse, and now and then a pathetic, “Wherefore 
I am naught but an archangel — I that should have been 
pope!” 

So he went on for an hour, while the poor little king sat 
and suffered. Then all at once the old man’s frenzy depart- 

171 


The Prince and the Pauper 

ed, and he became all gentleness. His voice softened, he 
came down out of his clouds, and fell to prattling along so 
simply and so humanely, that he soon won the king’s heart 
completely. The old devotee moved the boy nearer to the 
fire and made him comfortable; doctored his small bruises 
and abrasions with a deft and tender hand; and then set 
about preparing and cooking a supper — chatting pleasantly 
all the time, and occasionally stroking the lad’s cheek or 
patting his head, in such a gently caressing way that in a 
little while all the fear and repulsion inspired by the arch- 
angel were changed to reverence and affection for the man. 

This happy state of things continued while the two ate 
the supper; then, after a prayer before the shrine, the her- 
mit put the boy to bed, in a small adjoining room, tucking 
him in as snugly and lovingly as a mother might; and so 
with a parting caress, left him and sat down by the fire, and 
began to poke the brands about in an absent and aimless 
way. Presently he paused; then tapped his forehead several 
times with his fingers, as if trying to recall some thought 
which had escaped from his mind. Apparently he was un- 
successful. Now he started quickly up, and entered his 
guest’s room, and said: 

‘^Thou art king.^” 

‘‘Yes,” was the response, drowsily uttered. 

“What king?’’ 

“Of England.” 

“Of England. Then Henry is gone ! ” 

“Alack, it is so. I am his son.” 

172 


The Prince and the Pauper 

A black frown settled down upon the hermit’s face, and 
he clenched his bony hands with a vindictive energy. He 
stood a few moments, breathing fast and swallowing re- 
peatedly, then said in a husky voice: 

‘‘Dost know it was he that turned us out into the world 
houseless and homeless?” 

There was no response. The old man bent down and 
scanned the boy’s reposeful face and listened to his placid 
breathing. “He sleeps— sleeps soundly”; and the frown 
vanished away and gave place to an expression of evil satis- 
faction. A smile flitted across the dreaming boy’s features. 
The hermit muttered, “So — his heart is happy”; and he 
turned away. He went stealthily about the place, seeking 
here and there for something; now and then halting to listen, 
now and then jerking his head around and casting a quick 
glance toward the bed; and always muttering, always mum- 
bling to himself. At last he found what he seemed to want 
— a rusty old butcher-knife and a whestone. Then he crept 
to his place by the fire, sat himself down, and began to whet 
the knife softly on the stone, still muttering, mumbling, 
ejaculating. The winds sighed around the lonely place, the 
mysterious voices of the night floated by out of the distances. 
The shining eyes of venturesome mice and rats peered out at 
the old man from cracks and coverts, but he went on with 
his work, rapt, absorbed, and noted none of these things. 

At long intervals he drew his thumb along the edge of his 
knife, and nodded his head with satisfaction. “It grows 
sharper,” he said, “yes, it grows sharper.” 

173 


The Prince and the Pauper 

He took no note of the flight of time, but worked tran- 
quilly on, entertaining himself with his thoughts, which 
broke out occasionally in articulate speech: 

‘‘His father wrought us evil, he destroyed us — and is 
gone down into the eternal fires ! Yes, down into the eternal 
fires! no, he hath not escaped the fires, the consuming, un- 
pitying, remorseless fires — and they are everlasting!’’ 

And so he wrought; and still wrought; mumbling — 
chuckling a low rasping chuckle at times — and at times 
breaking again into words: 

“It was his father that did it all. I am but an archangel 
— but for him, I should be pope!” 

The king stirred. The hermit sprang noiselessly to the 
bedside, and went down upon his knees, bending over the 
prostrate form with his knife uplifted. The boy stirred 
again; his eyes came open for an instant, but there was no 
speculation in them, they saw nothing; the next moment 
his tranquil breathing showed that his sleep was sound once 
more. 

The hermit watched and listened for a time, keeping his 
position and scarcely breathing; then he slowly lowered his 
arm, and presently crept away, saying: 

“It is long past midnight — it is not best that he should 
cry out, lest by accident some one be passing.” 

He glided about his hovel, gathering a rag here, a thong 
there, and another one yonder; then he returned, and by 
careful and gentle handling he managed to tie the king’s 
ankles together without waking him. Next he essayed to 
174 


The Prince and the Pauper 

tie the wrists; he made several attempts to cross them, but 
the boy always drew one hand or the other away, just as the 
cord was ready to be applied; but at last, when the arch- 
angel was almost ready to despair, the boy crossed his hands 
himself, and the next moment they were bound. Now a 
bandage was passed under the sleeper’s chin and brought up 
over his head and tied fast — and so softly, so gradually, and 
so deftly were the knots drawn together and compacted, 
that the boy slept peacefully through it all without stirring. 


XXI 


HENDON TO THE RESCUE 

T he old man glided away, stooping, stealthily, cat-like, 
and brought the low bench. He seated himself upon 
it, half his body in the dim and flickering light, and the other 
half in shadow; and so, with his craving eyes bent upon the 
slumbering boy, he kept his patient vigil there, heedless of 
the drift of time, and softly whetted his knife, and mumbled 
and chuckled; and in aspect and attitude he resembled 
nothing so much as a grizzly, monstrous spider, gloating 
over some hapless insect that lay bound and helpless in his 
web. 

After a long while, the old man, who was still gazing — 
yet not seeing, his mind having settled into a dreamy ab- 
straction — observed on a sudden that the boy’s eyes were 
open — wide open and staring! — staring up in frozen horror 
at the knife. The smile of a gratified devil crept over the 
old man’s face, and he said, without changing his attitude 
or occupation: 

‘‘Son of Henry the Eighth, hast thou prayed.^” 

The boy struggled helplessly in his bonds; and at the 
same time forced a smothered sound through his closed 
176 


The Prince and the Pauper 

jaws, which the hermit chose to interpret as an affirmative 
answer to his question. 

‘‘Then pray again. Pray the prayer for the dying!” 

A shudder shook the boy’s frame, and his face blenched. 
Then he struggled again to free himself — turning and twist- 
ing himself this way and that; tugging frantically, fiercely, 
desperately — but uselessly — to burst his fetters; and all the 
while the old ogre smiled down upon him, and nodded his 
head, and placidly whetted his knife, mumbling, from time 
to time, “The moments are precious, they are few and pre- 
cious — pray the prayer for the dying!” 

The boy uttered a despairing groan, and ceased from his 
struggles, panting. The tears came, then, and trickled, one 
after the other, down his face; but this piteous sight wrought 
no softening effect upon the savage old man. 

The dawn was coming now; the hermit observed it, and 
spoke up sharply, with a touch of nervous apprehension in 
his voice: 

“I may not indulge this ecstasy longer! The night is 
already gone. It seems but a moment — only a moment; 
would it had endured a year! Seed of the Church’s spoiler, 
close thy perishing eyes, an thou fearest to look upon ...” 

The rest was lost in inarticulate mutterings. The old 
man sank upon his knees, his knife in his hand, and bent 
himself over the moaning boy — 

Hark! There was a sound of voices near the cabin — ^the 
knife dropped from the hermit’s hand; he cast a sheepskin 
over the boy and started up, trembling. The sounds in- 
177 


The Prince and the Pauper 

creased, and presently the voices became rough and angry; 
then came blows, and cries for help; then a clatter of swift 
footsteps retreating. Immediately came a succession of 
thundering knocks upon the cabin door, followed by: 

‘‘Hullo-o-o! Open! And despatch, in the name of all 
the devils!” 

Oh, this was the blessedest sound that had ever made 
music in the king’s ears; for it was Miles Hendon’s voice! 

The hermit, grinding his teeth in impotent rage, moved 
swiftly out of the bedchamber, closing the door behind him; 
and straightway the king heard a talk, to this effect, pro- 
ceeding from the ‘‘chapel”: 

“Homage and greeting, reverend sir! Where is the boy 

— my boy.^^” 

“What boy, friend.^^” 

“What boy! Lie me no lies, sir priest, play me no de- 
ceptions ! — I am not in the humor for it. Near to this place 
I caught the scoundrels who I judged did steal him from me, 
and I made them confess; they said he was at large again, 
and they had tracked him to your door. They showed me 
his very footprints. Now palter no more; for look you, 
holy sir, an thou produce him not — Where is the boy ” 
“Oh, good sir, peradventure you mean the ragged regal 
vagrant that tarried here the night. If such as you take 
interest in such as he, know, then, that I have sent him of an 
errand. He will be back anon. ” 

“How soon? How soon? Come, waste not the time — 
cannot I overtake him? How soon will he be back?” 

178 


The Prince and the Pauper 

''Thou needst not stir; he will return quickly.” 

" So be it then. I will try to wait. But stop \—you sent 
him of an errand?— you ! Verily, this is a lie— he would not 
go. He would pull thy old beard an thou didst offer such an 
insolence. Thou hast lied, friend; thou hast surely lied! 
He would not go for thee nor for any man. ” 

"For any man— no; haply not. But I am not a man.” 

''What! Now o’ God’s name what art thou, then?” 

"It is a secret — mark thou reveal it not. I am an arch- 
angel ! ” 

There was a tremendous ejaculation from Miles Hendon 
— not altogether unprofane — followed by: 

"This doth well and truly account for his complaisance! 
Right well I knew he would budge nor hand nor foot in the 
menial service of any mortal; but lord, even a king must 
obey when an archangel gives the word o’ command! Let 
me — ’sh! What noise was that?” 

All this while the king had been yonder, alternately 
quaking with terror and trembling with hope; and all the 
while, too, he had thrown all the strength he could into his 
anguished meanings, constantly expecting them to reach 
Hendon’s ear, but always realizing, with bitterness, that 
they failed, or at least made no impression. So this last 
remark of his servant came as comes a reviving breath from 
fresh fields to the dying; and he exerted himself once more, 
and with all his energy, just as the hermit was saying: 

"Noise? I heard only the wind.” 

"Mayhap it was. Yes, doubtless that was it. I have 
179 


The Prince and the Pauper 

been hearing it faintly all the — there it is again! It is not 
the wind! What an odd sound! Come, we will hunt it 
out!” 

Now the king’s joy was nearly insupportable. His tired 
lungs did their utmost — and hopefully, too — but the sealed 
jaws and the muffling sheepskin sadly crippled the effort. 
Then the poor fellow’s heart sank, to hear the hermit say: 

‘‘Ah, it came from without — I think from the copse 
yonder. Come, I will lead the way. ” 

The king heard the two pass out talking; heard their 
footsteps die quickly away — then he was alone with a 
boding, brooding, awful silence. 

It seemed an age till he heard the steps and voices 
approaching again — and this time he heard an added sound 
— the trampling of hoofs, apparently. Then he heard 
Hendon say: 

“I will not wait longer. I cannot wait longer. He has 
lost his way in this thick wood. Which direction took he? 
Quick — point it out to me. ” 

“He — but wait; I will go with thee.” 

“Good — good! Why, truly thou art better than thy 
looks. Marry, I do think there’s not another archangel 
with so right a heart as thine. Wilt ride? Wilt take the 
wee donkey that’s for my boy, or wilt thou fork thy holy 
legs over this ill-conditioned slave of a mule that I have pro- 
vided for myself.^ — and had been cheated in, too, had he 
cost but the indifferent sum of a month’s usury on a brass 
farthing let to a tinker out of work. ” 

180 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“No — ride thy mule, and lead thine ass; I am surer on 
mine own feet, and will walk. ” 

“Then, prithee, mind the little beast for me while I take 
my life in my hands and make what success I may toward 
mounting the big one. ” 

Then followed a confusion of kicks, cuffs, tramplings and 
plungings, accompanied by a thunderous intermingling of 
volleyed curses, and finally a bitter apostrophe to the mule, 
which must have broken its spirit, for hostilities seemed to 
cease from that moment. 

With unutterable misery the fettered little king heard 
the voices and footsteps fade away and die out. All hope 
forsook him now for the moment, and a dull despair settled 
down upon his heart. “My only friend is deceived and got 
rid of,” he said; “the hermit will return and — ” He fin- 
ished with a gasp; and at once fell to struggling so frantic- 
ally with his bonds again, that he shook off the smothering 
sheepskin. 

And now he heard the door open! The sound chilled 
him to the marrow — already he seemed to feel the knife at 
his throat. Horror made him close his eyes; horror made 
him open them again — and before him stood John Canty 
and Hugo! 

He would have saxd “Thank God!” if his jaws had been 
free. 

A moment or two later his limbs were at liberty, and his 
captors, each gripping him by an arm, were hurrying him 

with all speed through the forest. 

181 


XXII 


A VICTIM OF TREACHERY 

O NCE more ‘'King Foo>foo the First” was roving with 
the tramps and outlaws, a butt for their coarse jests 
and dull-witted railleries, and sometimes the victim of small 
spitefulnesses at the hands of Canty and Hugo when the 
Ruffler’s back was turned. None but Canty and Hugo 
really disliked him. Some of the others liked him, and all 
admired his pluck and spirit. During two or three days, 
Hugo, in whose ward and charge the king was, did what he 
covertly could to make the boy uncomfortable; and at night, 
during the customary orgies, he amused the company by 
putting small indignities upon him — always as if by accident. 
Twice he stepped upon the king’s toes — accidentally — and 
the king, as became his royalty, was contemptuously uncon- 
scious of it and indifferent to it; but the third time Hugo 
entertained himself in that way, the king felled him to the 
ground with a cudgel, to the prodigious delight of the tribe. 
Hugo, consumed with anger and shame, sprang up, seized a 
cudgel and came at his small adversary in a fury. In- 
stantly a ring was formed around the gladiators, and the 
betting and cheering began. But poor Hugo stood no 

182 


The Prince and the Pauper 

chance whatever. His frantic and lubberly ’prentice-work 
found but a poor market for itself when pitted against an 
arm which had been trained by the first masters of Europe 
in single-stick, quarter-staff, and every art and trick of 
swordsmanship. The little king stood, alert but at graceful 
ease, and caught and turned aside the thick rain of blows 
with a facility and precision which set the motley onlookers 
wild with admiration; and every now and then, when his 
practised eye detected an opening, and a lightning-swift rap 
upon Hugo’s head followed as a result, the storm of cheers 
and laughter that swept the place was something wonderful 
to hear. At the end of fifteen minutes, Hugo, all battered, 
bruised, and the target for a pitiless bombardment of ridi- 
cule, slunk from the field; and the unscathed hero of the 
fight was seized and borne aloft upon the shoulders of the 
joyous rabble to the place of honor beside the Ruffler, where 
with vast ceremony he was crowned King of the Game- 
Cocks; his meaner title being at the same time solemnly 
canceled and annulled, and a decree of banishment from the 
gang pronounced against any who should henceforth utter it. 

All attempts to make the king serviceable to the troop 
had failed. He had stubbornly refused to act; moreover, he 
was always trying to escape. He had been thrust into an 
unwatched kitchen, the first day of his return; he not only 
came forth empty-handed, but tried to rouse the housemates. 
He was sent out with a tinker to help him at his work; he 
would not work; moreover, he threatened the tinker with 
his own soldering-iron; and finally both Hugo and the tinker 

188 


The Prince and the Pauper 

found their hands full with the mere matter of keeping him 
from getting away. He delivered the thunders of his 
royalty upon the heads of all who hampered his liberties or 
tried to force him to service. He was sent out, in Hugo’s 
charge, in company with a slatternly woman and a diseased 
baby, to beg; but the result was not encouraging — he 
declined to plead for the mendicants, or be a party to their 
cause in any way. 

Thus several days went by; and the miseries of this 
tramping life, and the weariness and sordidness and mean- 
ness and vulgarity of it, became gradually and steadily so 
intolerable to the captive that he began at last to feel that 
his release from the hermit’s knife must prove only a tem- 
porary respite from death, at best. 

But at night, in his dreams, these things were forgotten, 
and he was on his throne, and master again. This, of course, 
intensified the sufferings of the awakening — so the mortifi- 
cations of each succeeding morning of the few that passed 
between his return to bondage and the combat with Hugo, 
grew bitterer and bitterer, and harder and harder to bear. 

The morning after that combat, Hugo got up with a 
heart filled with vengeful purposes against the king. He 
had tw o plans in particular. One was to inflict upon the lad 
what would be, to his proud spirit and ‘‘imagined” royalty, 
a peculiar humiliation; and if he failed to accomplish this, 
his other plan was to put a crime of some kind upon the king 
and then betray him into the implacable clutches of the law. 

In pursuance of the first plan, he proposed to put a 
184 


The Prince and the Pauper 

clime” upon the king’s leg, rightly judging that that 
would mortify him to the last and perfect degree; and as 
soon as the clime should operate, he meant to get Canty’s 
help, and force the king to expose his leg in the highway 
and beg for alms. “Clime” was the cant term for a sore, 
artificially created. To make a clime, the operator made a 
paste or poultice of unslaked lime, soap, and the rust of old 
iron, and spread it upon a piece of leather, which was then 
bound tightly upon the leg. This would presently fret off 
the skin, and make the flesh raw and angry-looking; blood 
was then rubbed upon the limb, which, being fully dried, 
took on a dark and repulsive color. Then a bandage of 
soiled rags was put on in a cleverly careless way which 
would allow the hideous ulcer to be seen and move the com- 
passion of the passer-by.^ 

Hugo got the help of the tinker whom the king had cowed 
with the soldering-iron; they took the boy out on a tinkering 
tramp, and as soon as they were out of sight of the camp they 
threw him down and the tinker held him while Hugo bound 
the poultice tight and fast upon his leg. 

The king raged and stormed, and promised to hang the 
two the moment the scepter was in his hand again; but they 
kept a firm grip upon him and enjoyed his impotent strug- 
gling and jeered at his threats. This continued until the 
poultice began to bite; and in no long time its work would 
have been perfected if there had been no interruption. But 
there was; for about this time the “slave” who had made the 

iFrom “The English Rogue”: London, 1665. 

185 


The Prince and the Pauper 

speech denouncing England’s laws appeared on the scene 
and put an end to the enterprise, and stripped off the poul- 
tice and bandage. 

The king wanted to borrow his deliverer’s cudgel and 
warm the jackets of the two rascals on the spot; but the 
man said no, it would bring trouble — leave the matter till 
night; the whole tribe being together, then, the outside 
world would not venture to interfere or interrupt. He 
marched the party back to camp and reported the affair 
to the Ruffler, who listened, pondered, and then decided 
that the king should not be again detailed to beg, since it was 
plain he was worthy of something higher and better — 
wherefore, on the spot he promoted him from the mendicant 
rank and appointed him to steal ! 

Hugo was overjoyed. He had already tried to make the 
king steal, and failed; but there would be no more trouble of 
that sort now, for, of course, the king would not dream of 
defying a distinct command delivered directly from head- 
quarters. So he planned a raid for that very afternoon, 
purposing to get the king in the law’s grip in the course of it; 
and to do it, too, with such ingenious strategy, that it should 
seem to be accidental and unintentional ; for the King of the 
Game-Cocks was popular now, and the gang might not deal 
over-gently with an unpopular member who played so 
serious a treachery upon him as the delivering him over to 
the common enemy, the law. 

Very well. All in good time Hugo strolled off to a 
neighboring village with his prey; and the two drifted slowly 

186 


The Prince and the Pauper 

up and down one street after another, the one watching 
sharply for a sure chance to achieve his evil purpose, and the 
other watching as sharply for a chance to dart away and get 
free of his infamous captivity forever. 

Both threw away some tolerably fair-looking opportuni- 
ties; for both, in their secret hearts, were resolved to make 
absolutely sure work this time, and neither meant to allow 
his fevered desires to seduce him into any venture that had 
much uncertainty about it. 

Hugo’s chance came first. For at last a woman ap- 
proached who carried a fat package of some sort in a basket. 
Hugo’s eyes sparkled with sinful pleasure as he said to him- 
self, ‘‘Breath o’ my life, an I can but put that upon him, ’tis 
good-den and God keep thee. King of the Game-Cocks!” 
He waited and watched — outwardly patient, but inwardly 
consuming with excitement — till the woman had passed by, 
and the time was ripe; then said, in a low voice: “Tarry 
here till I come again,” and darted stealthily after the prey. 

The king’s heart was filled with joy — he could make his 
escape now, if Hugo’s quest only carried him far enough 
away. 

But he was to have no such luck. Hugo crept behind 
the woman, snatched the package, and came running back, 
wrapping it in an old piece of blanket which he carried on his 
arm. The hue and cry was raised in a moment by the 
woman, who knew her loss by the lightening of her burden, 
although she had not seen the pilfering done. Hugo thrust 
the bundle into the king’s hands without halting, saying: 

187 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“Now speed ye after me with the rest, and cry ‘Stop 
thief!’ but mind ye lead them astray!” 

The next moment Hugo turned a corner and darted 
down a crooked alley — and in another moment or two he 
lounged into view again, looking innocent and indifferent, 
and took up a position behind a post to watch results. 

The insulted king threw the bundle on the ground; and 
the blanket fell away from it just as the woman arrived, 
with an augmenting crowd at her heels; she seized the king’s 
wrist with one hand, snatched up her bundle with the other, 
and began to pour out a tirade of abuse upon the boy while 
he struggled, without success, to free himself from her grip. 

Hugo had seen enough — his enemy was captured and the 
law would get him now — so he slipped away, jubilant and 
chuckling, and wended campward, framing a judicious ver- 
sion of the matter to give to the RufHer’s crew as he strode 
along. 

The king continued to struggle in the woman’s grasp, and 
now and then cried out, in vexation : 

“Unhand me, thou foolish creature; it was not I that 
bereaved thee of thy paltry goods. ” 

The crowd closed around, threatening the king and call- 
ing him names; a brawny blacksmith in leather apron, and 
sleeves rolled to his elbows, made a reach for him, saying he 
would trounce him well, for a lesson; but just then a long 
sword flashed in the air and fell with convincing force upon 
the man’s arm, flat side down, the fantastic owner of it 
remarking pleasantly at the same time : 

188 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“Marry, good souls, let us proceed gently, not with ill 
blood and uncharitable words. This is matter for the law’s 
consideration, not private and unofficial handling. Loose 
thy hold from the boy, good wife.” 

The blacksmith averaged the stalwart soldier with a 
glance, then went muttering away, rubbing his arm; the 
woman released the boy’s wrist reluctantly; the crowd eyed 
the stranger unlovingly, but prudently closed their mouths. 
The king sprang to his deliverer’s side, with flushed cheeks 
and sparkling eyes, exclaiming: 

“Thou hast lagged sorely, but thou comest in good 
season now. Sir Miles; carve me this rabble to rags!” 


XXIII 


THE PRINCE A PRISONER 

H endon forced back a smile, and bent down and 
whispered in the king’s ear: 

‘‘Softly, softly my prince, wag thy tongue warily — nay, 
suffer it not to wag at all. Trust in me — all shall go well in 
the end.” Then he added, to himself: “<SzV Miles! Bless 
me, I had totally forgot I was a knight ! Lord, how’ marvel- 
ous a thing it is, the grip his memory doth take upon his 
quaint and crazy fancies ! . . . An empty and foolish title is 
mine, and yet it is something to have deserved it, for I think 
it is more honor to be held worthy to be a specter-knight in 
his Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows than to be held base 
enough to be an earl in some of the real kingdoms of this 
world.” 

The crowd fell apart to admit a constable, who ap- 
proached and was about to lay his hand upon the king’s 
shoulder, when Hendon said : 

“Gently, good friend, withhold your hand — he shall go 
peaceably; I am responsible for that. Lead on, we will 
follow.” 

The officer led, with the woman and her bundle; Miles 
190 


The Prince and the Pauper 

and the king followed after, with the crowd at their heels. 
The king was inclined to rebel; but Hendon said to him in a 
low voice: 

“Reflect, sire — your laws are the wholesome breath of 
your own royalty; shall their source resist them, yet require 
the branches to respect them.^ Apparently, one of these 
laws has been broken ; when the king is on his throne again, 
can it ever grieve him to remember that when he was seem- 
ingly a private person he loyally sunk the king in the citizen 
and submitted to its authority?” 

“Thou art right; say no more; thou shalt see that what- 
soever the king of England requires a subject to suffer under 
the law, he will himself suffer while he holdeth the station of 
a subject.” 

When the woman was called upon to testify before the 
justice of the peace, she swore that the small prisoner at the 
bar was the person who had committed the theft; there was 
none able to show the contrary, so the king stood convicted. 
The bundle was now unrolled, and when the contents proved 
to be a plump little dressed pig, the judge looked troubled, 
while Hendon turned pale, and his body was thrilled with an 
electric shiver of dismay; but the king remained unmoved, 
protected by his ignorance. The judge meditated, during an 
ominous pause, then turned to the woman, with the question : 

“What dost thou hold this property to be worth?” 

The woman courtesied and replied: 

“Three shillings and eightpence, your worship— I could 
not abate a penny and set forth the value honestly.” 


The Prince and the Pauper 

The justice glanced around uncomfortably upon the 
crowd, then nodded to the constable and said: 

‘‘ Clear the court and close the doors. ’’ 

It was done. None remained but the two officials, the 
accused, the accuser, and Miles Hendon. This latter was 
rigid and colorless, and on his forehead big drops of cold 
sweat gathered, broke and blended together, and trickled 
down his face. The judge turned to the woman again, 
and said, in a compassionate voice: 

“ ’Tis a poor ignorant lad, and mayhap was driven hard 
by hunger, for these be grievous times for the unfortunate; 
mark you, he hath not an evil face — ^but when hunger 
driveth — Good woman ! dost know that when one steals a 
thing above the value of thirteen pence ha’penny the law 
saith he shall hang for it.^^” 

The little king started, wide-eyed with consternation, 
but controlled himself and held his peace; but not so the 
woman. She sprang to her feet, shaking with fright, and 
cried out: 

“Oh, good lack, what have I done! God-a-mercy, I 
would not hang the poor thing for the whole world! Ah, 
save me from this, your worship — what shall I do, what 
can I do?” 

The justice maintained his judicial composure, and 
simply said: 

“Doubtless it is allowable to revise the value, since it is 
not yet writ upon the record. ” 

“Then in God’s name call the pig eightpence, and heaven 
192 


The Prince and the Pauper 

bless the day that freed my conscience of this awesome 
thing!” 

Miles Hendon forgot all decorum in his delightj and sur- 
prised the king and wounded his dignity by throwing his 
arms around him and hugging him. The woman made her 
grateful adieux and started away with her pig; and when the 
constable opened the door for her, he followed her out into 
the narrow hall. The justice proceeded to write in his 
record -book. Hendon, always alert, thought he would like 
to know why the officer followed the woman out; so he 
slipped softly into the dusky hall and listened. He heard a 
conversation to this effect: 

‘‘It is a fat pig, and promises good eating; I will buy it of 
thee; here is the eightpence.” 

“Eightpence, indeed! Thou ’It do no such thing. It 
cost me three shillings and eightpence, good honest coin of 
the last reign, that old Harry that’s just dead ne’er touched 
nor tampered with. A fig for thy eightpence ! ” 

“Stands the wind in that quarter.^ Thou wast under 
oath, and so swore falsely when thou saidst the value was 
but eightpence. Come straightway back with me before 
his worship, and answer for the crime! — and then the lad 
will hang.” 

‘"There, there, dear heart, say no more, I am content. 
Give me the eightpence, and hold thy peace about the 
matter.” 

The woman went off crying; Hendon slipped back into 
the court-room, and the constable presently followed, after 

193 


The Prince and the Pauper 

hiding his prize in some convenient place. The justice 
wrote awhile longer, then read the king a wise and kindly 
lecture, and sentenced him to a short imprisonment in the 
common jail, to be followed by a public flogging. The as- 
tounded king opened his mouth and was probably going to 
order the good judge to be beheaded on the spot; but he 
caught a warning sign from Hendon, and succeeded in 
closing his mouth again before he lost anything out of it. 
Hendon took him by the hand, now made reverence to the 
justice, and the two departed in the wake of the constable 
toward the jail. The moment the street was reached, the 
inflamed monarch halted, snatched away his hand, and 
exclaimed : 

“Idiot, dost imagine I will enter a common jail alive? 

Hendon bent down and said, somewhat sharply: 

you trust in me.^ Peace! and forbear to worsen 
our chances with dangerous speech. What God wills, will 
happen; thou canst not hurry it, thou canst not alter it; 
therefore wait, and be patient — ’twill be time enow to rail 
or rejoice when what is to happen has happened. ” ^ 


^ See Notes to Chapter 23, at end of the volume. 


XXIV 


THE ESCAPE 

T he short winter day was nearly ended. The streets 
were deserted, save for a few random stragglers, and 
these hurried straight along, with the intent look of people 
who were only anxious to accomplish their errands as quickly 
as possible and then snugly house themselves from the rising 
wind and the gathering twilight. They looked neither to 
the right nor to the left; they paid no attention to our party, 
they did not even seem to see them. Edward the Sixth 
wondered if the spectacle of a king on his way to jail had 
ever encountered such marvelous indifference before. By 
and by the constable arrived at a deserted market-square 
and proceeded to cross it. When he had reached the middle 
of it, Hendon laid his hand upon his arm, and said in a low 
voice : 

‘‘Bide a moment, good sir, there is none in hearing, and I 
would say a word to thee. ” 

“My duty forbids it, sir; prithee, hinder me not, the 
night comes on. ’’ 

“Stay, nevertheless, for the matter concerns thee nearly. 
Turn thy back a moment and seem not to see; let this pocyr 
lad escape, ” 


195 


The Prince and the Pauper 

This to me, sir I I arrest thee in — ” 

‘^Nay, be not too hasty. See thou be careful and 
commit no foolish error” — then he shut his voice down 
to a whisper, and said in the man’s ear — ‘Hhe pig thou 
hast purchased for eightpence may cost thee thy neck, 
man!” 

The poor constable, taken by surprise, was speechless at 
first, then found his tongue and fell to blustering and 
threatening; but Hendon was tranquil, and waited with 
patience till his breath was spent; then said: 

“I have a liking to thee, friend, and would not willingly 
see thee come to harm. Observe, I heard it all — every 
word. I will prove it to thee. ” Then he repeated the con- 
versation which the officer and the woman had had together 
in the hall, word for word, and ended with : 

‘‘There — have I set it forth correctly.^ Should not I be 
able to set it forth correctly before the judge, if occasion 
required?” 

The man was dumb with fear and distress for a moment; 
then he rallied and said with forced lightness: 

“ ’Tis making a mighty matter indeed, out of a jest; I but 
plagued the woman for mine amusement. ” 

“Kept you the woman’s pig for amusement?” 

The man answered sharply: 

“Naught else, good sir — T tell thee ’twas but a jest.” 

“I do begin to believe thee,” said Hendon, with a per- 
plexing mixture of mockery and half-conviction in his tone; 
“but tarry thou here a moment whilst I run and ask his 
196 


The Prince and the Pauper 

worship — for nathless, he being a man experienced in law, 
in jests, in — ” 

He was moving away, still talking; the constable 
hesitated, fidgeted, spat out an oath or two, then cried 
out: 

‘‘Hold, hold, good sir — prithee, wait a little — ^the judge! 
why man, he hath no more sympathy with a jest than hath a 
dead corpse! — come, and we will speak further. Ods body! 
I seem to be in evil case — and all for an innocent and 
thoughtless pleasantry. I am a man of family; and my wife 
and little ones — List to reason, good your worship; what 
wouldst thou of me?” 

“Only that thou be blind and dumb and paralytic 
whilst one may count a hundred thousand — counting 
slowly,” said Hendon, with the expression of a man who 
asks but a reasonable favor, and that a very little one. 

“It is my destruction!” said the constable despairingly. 
“Ah, be reasonable, good sir; only look at this matter, on all 
its sides, and see how’ mere a jest it is — how manifestly and 
how plainly it is so. And even if one granted it were not a 
jest, it is a fault so small that e’en the grimmest penalty it 
could call forth would be but a rebuke and warning from 
the judge’s lips. ” 

Hendon replied with a solemnity which chilled the air 
about him : 

“This jest of thine hath a name in law — wot you what 
it is?” 

“I knew it not! Peradventure I have been unwise. I 
197 


The Prince and the Pauper 

never dreamed it had a name — ah, sweet heaven, I thought 
it was original. ’’ 

‘"Yes, it hath a name. In the law this crime is called 
Non com'pos mentis lex talionis sic transit gloria Mundi/^ 

“Ah, my God!” 

“And the penalty is death!” 

“God be merciful to me, a sinner!” 

“By advantage taken of one in fault, in dire peril, and 
at thy mercy, thou hast seized goods worth above thirteen 
pence ha’penny, paying but a trifle for the same; and this, 
in the eye of the law, is constructive barratry, misprision of 
treason, malfeasance in oflBce, ad hominem expurgatis in statu 
quo — and the penalty is death by the halter, without ran- 
som, commutation, or benefit of clergy.” 

“Bear me up, bear me up, sweet sir, my legs do fail me! 
Be thou merciful — spare me this doom, and I will turn my 
back and see naught that shall happen. ” 

“Good! now thou’rt wise and reasonable. And thou’lt 
restore the pig?” 

“I will, I will, indeed — nor ever touch another, though 
heaven send it and an archangel fetch it. Go — I am blind 
for thy sake — I see nothing. I will say thou didst break 
in and wrest the prisoner from my hands by force. It is but 
a crazy, ancient door — I will batter it down myself betwixt 
midnight and the morning.” 

“Do it, good soul, no harm will come of it; the judge 
hath a loving charity for this poor lad, and will shed no tears 
and break no jailer’s bones for his escape.” 

198 


XXV 


HENDON HALL 

A S soon as Hendon and the king were out of sight of the 
^ constable, his majesty was instructed to hurry to a 
certain place outside the town, and wait there, whilst Hen- 
don should go to the inn and settle his account. Half an 
hour later the two friends were blithely jogging eastward on 
Hendon’s sorry steeds. The king was warm and comfort- 
able now, for he had cast his rags and clothed himself in the 
second-hand suit which Hendon had bought on London 
Bridge. 

Hendon wished to guard against over-fatiguing the boy; 
he judged that hard journeys, irregular meals, and illiberal 
measures of sleep would be bad for his crazed mind; while 
rest, regularity, and moderate exercise would be pretty sure 
to hasten its cure; he longed to see the stricken intellect 
made well again and its diseased visions driven out of the 
tormented little head; therefore he resolved to move by 
easy stages toward the home whence he had so long been 
banished, instead of obeying the impulse of his impatience 
and hurrying along night and day. 

When he and the king had journeyed about ten miles, 
199 


The Prince and the Pauper 

they reached a considerable village, and halted there for the 
night, at a good inn. The former relations were resumed; 
Hendon stood behind the king’s chair while he dined, and 
waited upon him; undressed him when he was ready for bed; 
then took the floor for his own quarters, and slept athwart 
the door, rolled up in a blanket. 

The next day, and the next day after, they jogged lazily 
along, talking over the adventures they had met^since their 
separation, and mightily enjoying each other’s narratives. 
Hendon detailed all his wide wanderings in search of the 
king, and described how the archangel had led him a fool’s 
journey all over the forest, and taken him back to the hut 
finally, when he found he could not get rid of him. Then — 
he said — the old man went into the bedchamber and came 
staggering back looking broken-hearted, and saying he had 
expected to find that the boy had returned and lain down in 
there to rest, but it was not so. Hendon had waited at the 
hut all day; hope of the king’s return died out then, and he 
departed upon the quest again. 

“And old Sanctum Sanctorum was truly sorry your 
highness came not back,” said Hendon; “I saw it in his 
face.” 

“Marry, I will never doubt thatr^ said the king — and 
then told his own story; after which Hendon was sorry he 
had not destroyed the archangel. 

During the last day of the trip, Hendon’s spirits were 
soaring. His tongue ran constantly. He talked about his 
old father, and his brother Arthur, and told of many things 



(( 


!” 


THERE IS THE VILLAGE, MY PRINCE, AND THERE IS THE HALL CLOSE BY 














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The Prince and the Pauper 

which illustrated their high and generous characters; he 
went into loving frenzies over his Edith, and was so glad- 
hearted that he was even able to say some gentle and broth- 
erly things about Hugh. He dwelt a deal on the coming 
meeting at Hendon Hall; what a surprise it would be to 
everybody, and what an outburst of thanksgiving and de- 
light there would be. 

It was a fair region, dotted with cottages and orchards, 
and the road led through broad pasturelands whose receding 
expanses, marked with gentle elevations and depressions, 
suggested the swelling and subsiding undulations of the 
sea. In the afternoon the returning prodigal made con- 
stant deflections from his course to see if by ascending 
some hillock he might not pierce the distance and catch 
a glimpse of his home. At last he was successful, and 
cried out excitedly: 

‘‘There is the village, my prince, and there is the Hall 
close by! You may see the towers from here; and that 
wood there — that is my father’s park. Ah, now thou’lt 
know what state and grandeur be! A house with seventy 
rooms — think of that! — and seven and twenty servants! 
A brave lodging for such as we, is it not so.^ Come, let us 
speed — my impatience will not brook further delay.” 

All possible hurry was made; stifl, it was after three 
o’clock before the village was reached. The travelers 
scampered through it, Hendon’s tongue going all the time. 
“Here is the church — covered with the same ivy — none 
gone, none added. ” “Yonder is the inn, the old Red Lion — 
201 


The Prince and the Pauper 

and yonder is the market-place.” ‘"Here is the Maypole, 
and here the pump — nothing is altered; nothing but the 
people, at any rate; ten years make a change in people; 
some of these I seem to know, but none know me. ” So his 
chat ran on. The end of the village was soon reached; then 
the travelers struck into a crooked, narrow road, walled in 
with tall hedges, and hurried briskly along it for a half-mile, 
then passed into a vast flower-garden through an imposing 
gateway whose huge stone pillars bore sculptured armorial 
devices. A noble mansion was before them. 

“Welcome to Hendon Hall, my king!” exclaimed Miles. 
“Ah, ’tis a great day! My father and my brother and the 
Lady Edith will be so mad with joy that they will have eyes 
and tongue for none but me in the first transports of the 
meeting, and so thou’lt seem but coldly welcomed — but 
mind it not; ’twill soon seem otherwise; for when I say thou 
art my ward, and tell them how costly is my love for thee, 
thou’lt see them take thee to their breasts for Miles Hen- 
don’s sake, and make their house and hearts thy home 
forever after!” 

The next moment Hendon sprang to the ground before 
the great door, helped the king down, then took him by the 
hand and rushed within. A few steps brought him to a 
spacious apartment; he entered, seated the king with more 
hurry than ceremony, then ran toward a young man who 
sat at a writing-table in front of a generous fire of logs. 

“Embrace me, Hugh,” he cried, “and say thou’rt glad I 
am come again! and call our father, for home is not home 
202 


The Prince and the Pauper 

till I shall touch his hand, and see his face, and hear his voice 
once more!” 

But Hugh only drew back, after betraying a momentary 
surprise, and bent a grave stare upon the intruder — a stare 
which indicated somewhat of offended dignity at first, then 
changed, in response to some inward thought or purpose, to 
an expression of marveling curiosity, mixed with a real or 
assumed compassion. Presently he said, in a mild voice : 

“Thy wits seem touched, poor stranger; doubtless thou 
hast suffered privations and rude buffetings at the world’s 
hands; thy looks and dress betoken it. Whom dost thou 
take me to be?” 

“Take thee? Prithee, for whom else than whom thou 
art? I take thee to be Hugh Hendon, ” said Miles, sharply. 

The other continued, in the same soft tone: 

“And whom dost thou imagine thyself to be?” 

“Imagination hath naught to do with it! Dost thou 
pretend thou knowest me not for thy brother Miles Hen- 
don?” 

An expression of pleased surprise fiitted across Hugh’s 
face, and he exclaimed: 

“What! thou art not jesting? can the dead come to life? 
God be praised if it be so! Our poor lost boy restored to 
our arms after all these cruel years! Ah, it seems too good 
to be true, it is too good to be true — I charge thee, have pity, 
do not trifle with me! Quick — come to the light let me 
scan thee well!” 

He seized Miles by the arm, dragged him to the window, 
203 


The Prince and the Pauper 

and began to devour him from head to foot with his eyes, 
turning him this way and that, and stepping briskly around 
him and about him to prove him from all points of view; 
whilst the returned prodigal, all aglow with gladness, smiled, 
laughed, and kept nodding his head and saying: 

‘‘Go on, brother, go on, and fear not; thou’lt find nor 
limb nor feature that cannot bide the test. Scour and scan 
me to thy content, my dear old Hugh — I am indeed thy old 
Miles, thy same old Miles, thy lost brother, is’t not so? 
Ah, ’tis a great day — I said ’twas a great day ! Give me thy 
hand, give me thy cheek^ — lord, I am like to die of very joy!” 

He was about to throw himself upon his brother; but 
Hugh put up his hand in dissent, then dropped his chin 
mournfully upon his breast, saying with emotion: 

“Ah, God of his mercy give me strength to bear this 
grievous disappointment!” 

Miles, amazed, could not speak for a moment; then he 
found his tongue, and cried out: 

‘^What disappointment? Am I not thy brother?” 

Hugh shook his head sadly, and said : 

“I pray heaven it may prove so, and that other eyes may 
find the resemblances that are hid from mine. Alack, I fear 
me the letter spoke but too truly. ” 

“What letter?” 

“One that came from oversea, some six or seven years 
ago. It said my brother died in battle. ” 

“It was a lie! Call thy father — he will know me.” 

“One may not call the dead. ” 

204 


The Prince and the Pauper 

‘"Dead?” Miles’s voice was subdued, and his lips 
trembled. My father dead! — oh, this is heavy news. 
Half my new joy is withered now. Prithee, let me see my 
brother Arthur ^he will know me; he will know me and 
console me. ” 

“He, also, is dead.” 

“God be merciful to me, a stricken man! Gone— both 
gone — the worthy taken and the worthless spared in 
me! Ah! I crave your mercy!— do not say the Lady 
Edith—” 

“ Is dead ? No, she lives. ” 

“Then, God be praised, my joy is whole again! Speed 
thee, brother — let her come to me! An she say I am not 
myself — but she will not; no, no, she will know me, I were 
a fool to doubt it. Bring her — bring the old servants; they, 
too, will know me.” 

“All are gone but five — Peter, Halsey, David, Bernard, 
and Margaret.” 

So saying, Hugh left the room. Miles stood musing 
awhile, then began to walk the floor, muttering: 

“The five arch villains have survived the two-and- 
twenty leal and honest — ’tis an odd thing. ” 

He continued walking back and forth, muttering to 
himself ; he had forgotten the king entirely. By and by his 
majesty said gravely, and with a touch of genuine compas- 
sion, though the words themselves were capable of being 
interpreted ironically : 

“Mind not thy mischance, good man; there be others in 
205 


The Prince and the Pauper 

the world whose identity is denied, and whose claims are 
derided. Thou hast company. ” 

‘‘Ah, my king,” cried Hendon, coloring slightly, ‘‘do not 
thou condemn me — wait, and thou shalt see. I am no 
impostor — she will say it; you shall hear it from the sweetest 
lips in England. I an impostor Why I know this old hall, 
these pictures of my ancestors, and all these things that are 
about us, as a child knoweth its own nursery. Here was I 
born and bred, my lord; I speak the truth; I would not de- 
ceive thee; and should none else believe, I pray thee do not 
thou doubt me — I could not bear it. ” 

“I do not doubt thee,” said the king, with a childlike 
simplicity and faith. 

“I thank thee out of my heart!” exclaimed Hendon, with 
a fervency which showed that he was touched. The king 
added, with the same gentle simplicity: 

“Dost thou doubt me?’' 

A guilty confusion seized upon Hendon, and he was 
grateful that the door opened to admit Hugh, at that mo- 
ment, and saved him the necessity of replying. 

A beautiful lady, richly clothed, followed Hugh, and 
after her came several liveried servants. The lady walked 
slowly, with her head bowed and her eyes fixed upon the 
floor. The face was unspeakably sad. Miles Hendon 
sprang forward, crying out: 

“Oh, my Edith, my darling — ” 

But Hugh waved him back, gravely, and said to the 
lady: 


206 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“Look upon him. Do you know him? ” 

At the sound of Miles’s voice the woman had started 
slightly, and her cheeks had flushed; she was trembling now. 
She stood still, during an impressive pause of several mo- 
ments; then slowly lifted up her head and looked into Hen- 
don’s eyes with a stony and frightened gaze; the blood sank 
out of her face, drop by drop, till nothing remained but the 
gray pallor of death; then she said, in a voice as dead as the 
face, “I know him not!” and turned, with a moan and a 
stifled sob, and tottered out of the room. 

Miles Hendon sank into a chair and covered his face 
with his hands. After a pause, his brother said to the 
servants: 

“You have observed him. Do you know him?” 

They shook their heads; then the master said: 

“The servants know you not, sir. I fear there is some 
mistake. You have seen that my wife knew you not. ” 

“Thy wijeV^ In an instant Hugh was pinned to the 
wall, with an iron grip about his throat. “Oh, thou fox- 
hearted slave, I see it all! Thou’st writ the lying letter 
thyself, and my stolen bride and goods are its fruit. There 
— now get thee gone, lest I shame mine honorable soldier- 
ship with the slaying of so pitiful a manikin!” 

Hugh, red-faced and almost suffocated, reeled to the 
nearest chair, and commanded the servants to seize and 
bind the murderous stranger. They hesitated, and one of 
them said: 

“He is armed, Sir Hugh, and we are weaponless.” 

207 


14 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“Armed? What of it, and ye so many? Upon him, 
I say!’’ 

But Miles warned them to be careful what they did, and 
added: 

“Ye know me of old — I have not changed; come on, an 
it like you. ” • 

This reminder did not hearten the servants much; they 
still held back. 

“Then go, ye paltry cowards, and arm yourselves and 
guard the doors, while I send one to fetch the watch, ” said 
Hugh. He turned, at the threshold, and said to Miles, 
“You’ll find it to your advantage to offend not with useless 
endeavors at escape.” 

“Escape? Spare thyself discomfort, an that is all that 
troubles thee. For Miles Hendon is master of Hendon Hall 
and all its belongings. He will remain — doubt it not. ” 


XXVI 


DISOWNED 

T he king sat musing a few moments, then looked up and 
said: 

“ ’Tis strange — most strange. I cannot account for it. ” 
“No, it is not strange, my liege. I know him, and this 
conduct is but natural. He was a rascal from his birth. ” 
“Oh, I spake not of Aim, Sir Miles. ” 

“Not of him? Then of what? What is it that is 
strange?’’ 

“That the king is not missed. ” 

“How? Which? I doubt I do not understand.” 
“Indeed! Doth it not strike you as being passing 
strange that the land is not filled with couriers and procla- 
mations describing my person and making search for me? 
Is it no matter for commotion and distress that the head of 
the state is gone.^ — that I am vanished away and lost?” 

“Most true, my king, I had forgot.” Then Hendon 
sighed, and muttered to himself. “Poor ruined mind — still 
busy with its pathetic dream. ” 

“But I have a plan that shall right us both. I will 
write a paper, in three tongues — Latin, Greek, and English 
209 


The Prince and the Pauper 

— and thou shalt haste away with it to London in the 
morning. Give it to none but my uncle, the Lord Hertford; 
when he shall see it, he will know and say I wrote it. Then 
he will send for me. ” 

“Might it not be best, my prince, that we wait here until 
I prove myself and make my rights secure to my domains.^ 
I should be so much the better able then to — ” 

The king interrupted him imperiously: 

“Peace! What are thy paltry domains, thy trivial in- 
terests, contrasted with matters which concern the weal of a 
nation and the integrity of a throne!” Then he added, in a 
gentle voice, as if he were sorry for his severity, “Obey and 
have no fear; I will right thee, I will make thee whole — yes, 
more than whole. I shall remember, and requite.” 

So saying, he took the pen, and set himself to work. 
Hendon contemplated him lovingly awhile, then said to 
himself: 

“An it were dark, I should think it was a king that spoke; 
there’s no denying it, when the humor’s upon him he doth 
thunder and lighten like your true king — now where got he 
that trick? See him scribble and scratch away contentedly 
at his meaningless pot-hooks, fancying them to be Latin and 
Greek — and except my wit shall serve me with a lucky 
device for diverting him from his purpose, I shall be forced 
to pretend to post away to-morrow on this wild errand he 
hath invented for me.” 

The next moment Sir Miles’s thoughts had gone back 
to the recent episode. So absorbed was he in his musings, 
210 


The Prince and the Pauper 

that when the king presently handed him the paper which he 
had been writing, he received it and pocketed it without 
being conscious of the act. ‘‘How marvelous strange she 
acted,” he muttered. “I think she knew me — and I think 
she did not know me. These opinions do conflict, I perceive 
it plainly; I cannot reconcile them, neither can I, by argu- 
ment, dismiss either of the two, or even persuade one to 
outweigh the other. The matter standeth simply thus : she 
must have known my face, my figure, my voice, for how 
could it be otherwise.^ yet she said she knew me not, and 
that is proof perfect, for she cannot lie. But stop — I think 
I begin to see. Peradventure he hath influenced her — 
commanded her — compelled her to lie. That is the solu- 
tion! The riddle is unriddled. She seemed dead with fear 
— ^yes, she was under his compulsion. I will seek her; I will 
find her; now that he is away, she will speak her true mind. 
She will remember the old times when we were little play- 
fellows together, and this will soften her heart, and she will 
no more betray me, but will confess me. There is no 
treacherous blood in her — no, she was always honest and 
true. She had loved me in those old days — this is my 
security; for whom one has loved, one cannot betray.” 

He stepped eagerly toward the door; at that moment it 
opened, and the Lady Edith entered. She was very pale, 
but she walked with a firm step, and her carriage was full 
of grace and gentle dignity. Her face was as sad as before. 

Miles sprang forward, with a happy confidence, to meet 
her, but she checked him with a hardly perceptible gesture, 
211 


The Prince and the Pauper 

and he stopped where he was. She seated herself, and asked 
him to do likewise. Thus simply did she take the sense of 
old-comradeship out of him, and transform him into a 
stranger and a guest. The surprise of it, the bewildering 
unexpectedness of it, made him begin to question, for a 
moment, if he was the person he was pretending to be, after 
all. The Lady Edith said: 

"‘Sir, I have come to warn you. The mad cannot be 
persuaded out of their delusions, perchance; but doubtless 
they may be persuaded to avoid perils. I think this dream 
of yours hath the seeming of honest truth to you, and there- 
fore is not criminal — but do not tarry here with it; for here 
it is dangerous.” She looked steadily into Miles’s face a 
moment, then added, impressively, “It is the more danger- 
ous for that you are much like what our lost lad must have 
grown to be, if he had lived.” 

“Heavens, madam, but I am he!” 

“I truly think you think it, sir. I question not your 
honesty in that — I but warn you, that is all. My husband 
is master in this region; his power hath hardly any limit; the 
people prosper or starve, as he wills. If you resembled not 
the man whom you profess to be, my husband might bid you 
pleasure yourself with your dream in peace; but trust me, I 
know him well, I know what he will do; he will say to all 
that you are but a mad impostor, and straightway all will 
echo him.” She bent upon Miles that same steady look 
once more, and added: “If you were Miles Hendon, and he 
knew it and all the region knew it — consider what I am say- 
212 


The Prince and the Pauper 

ing, weigh it well — you would stand in the same peril, your 
punishment would be no less sure; he would deny you and 
denounce you, and none would be bold enough to give you 
countenance. ” 

‘‘Most truly I believe it,” said Miles, bitterly. “The 
power that can command one lifelong friend to betray 
and disown another, and be obeyed, may well look to be 
obeyed in quarters where bread and life are on the 
stake and no cobweb ties of loyalty and honor are con- 
cerned. ” 

A faint tinge appeared for a moment in the lady’s cheek, 
and she dropped her eyes to the floor; but her voice betrayed 
no emotion when she proceeded: 

“I have warned you, I must still warn you, to go hence. 
This man will destroy you else. He is a tyrant who knows 
no pity. I, who am his fettered slave, know this. Poor 
Miles, and Arthur, and my dear guardian. Sir Richard, are 
free of him, and at rest — better that you were with them 
than that you bide here in the clutches of this miscreant. 
Your pretensions are a menace to his title and possessions; 
you have assaulted him in his own house — you are ruined if 
you stay. Go — do not hesitate. If you lack money, take 
this purse, I beg of you, and bribe the servants to let you 
pass. Oh, be warned, poor soul, and escape while you 
may.” 

Miles declined the purse with a gesture, and rose up and 
stood before her. 

“Grant me one thing,” he said. “Let your eyes rest 
213 


The Prince and the Pauper 

upon mine, so that I may see if they be steady. There — 
now answer me. Am I Miles Hendon.^’’ 

“ No. I know you not. ” 

“Swear it!’’ 

The answer was low, but distinct: 

“I swear.” 

“ Oh, this passes belief ! ” 

“Fly! Why will you waste the precious time.^ Fly 
and save yourself.” 

At that moment the officers burst into the room and a 
violent struggle began; but Hendon was soon overpowered 
and dragged away. The king was taken also, and both 
were bound and led to prison. 


XXVII 


IN PRISON 

^ I ^HE cells were all crowded; so the two friends were 
A chained in a large room where persons charged with 
trifling offenses were commonly kept. They had company, 
for there were some twenty manacled or fettered prisoners 
here, of both sexes and of varying ages — an obscene and 
noisy gang. The king chafed bitterly over the stupendous 
indignity thus put upon his royalty, but Hendon was be- 
wildered. He had come home, a jubilant prodigal, expect- 
ing to find everybody wild with joy over his return; and 
instead had got the cold shoulder and a jail. The promise 
and the fulfilment differed so widely, that the effect was 
stunning; he could not decide whether it was most tragic or 
most grotesque. He felt much as a man might who had 
danced blithely out to enjoy a rainbow, and got struck by 
lightning. 

But gradually his confused and tormenting thoughts 
settled down into some sort of order, and then his mind 
centered itself upon Edith. He turned her conduct over, 
and examined it in all lights, but he could not make anything 
satisfactory out of it. Did she know him.^ — or didn’t she 
215 


The Prince and the Pauper 

know him? It was a perplexing puzzle, and occupied him a 
long time; but he ended, finally, with the conviction that 
she did know him, and had repudiated him for interested 
reasons. He wanted to load her name with curses now; but 
this name had so long been sacred to him that he found he 
could not bring his tongue to profane it. 

Wrapped in prison blankets of a soiled and tattered 
condition, Hendon and the king passed a troubled night. 
For a bribe the jailer had furnished liquor to some of the 
prisoners; singing of ribald songs, fighting, shouting, and 
carousing, was the natural consequence. At last, awhile 
after midnight, a man attacked a woman and nearly killed 
her by beating her over the head with his manacles before 
the jailer could come to the rescue. The jailer restored 
peace by giving the man a sound clubbing about the head 
and shoulders — then the carousing ceased; and after that, 
all had an opportunity to sleep who did not mind the annoy- 
ance of the meanings and groanings of the two wounded 
people. 

During the ensuing week, the days and nights were of a 
monotonous sameness, as to events; men whose faces Hen- 
don remembered more or less distinctly came, by day, to 
gaze at the “impostor’’ and repudiate and insult him; and 
by night the carousing and brawling went on, with symmet- 
rical regularity. However, there was a change of incident 
at last. The jailer brought in an old man, and said to him: 

“The villain is in this room — cast thy old eyes about and 
see if thou canst say which is he. ” 

216 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Hendon glanced up, and experienced a pleasant sensa- 
tion for the first time since he had been in the jail. He said 
to himself, “This is Blake Andrews, a servant all his life 
in my father’s family— a good honest soul, with a right heart 
in his breast. That is, formerly. But none are true now; 
all are liars. This man will know me — and will deny me, 
too, like the rest. ” 

The old man gazed around the room, glanced at each 
face in turn, and finally said : 

“I see none here but paltry knaves, scum o’ the streets. 
Which is he.^” 

The jailer laughed. 

“Here,” he said; “scan this big animal, and grant me an 
opinion. ” 

The old man approached, and looked Hendon over, long 
and earnestly, then shook his head and said : 

“Marry, this is no Hendon — nor ever was!” 

“Right! Thy old eyes are sound yet. An I were Sir 
Hugh, I would take the shabby carle and — ” 

The jailer finished by lifting himself a-tiptoe with an 
imaginary halter, at the same time making a gurgling noise 
in his throat suggestive of suffocation. The old man said, 
vindictively: 

“Let him bless God an he fare no worse. An 1 had the 
handling o’ the villain, he should roast, or I am no true man !” 

The jailer laughed a pleasant hyena laugh, and said: 

“ Give him a piece of thy mind, old man — they all do it. 
Thou’lt find it good diversion. ” 

217 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Then he sauntered toward his anteroom and disappeared. 
The old man dropped upon his knees and whispered: 

‘'God be thanked, thou’rt come again, my master! I 
believed thou wert dead these seven years, and lo, here thou 
art alive! I knew thee the moment I saw thee; and main 
hard work it was to keep a stony countenance and seem to 
see none here but tuppenny knaves and rubbish o’ the 
streets. I am old and poor. Sir Miles ; but say the word and I 
will go forth and proclaim the truth though I be strangled for 
it.” 

“No,” said Hendon, “thou shalt not. It would ruin 
thee, and yet help but little in my cause. But I thank 
thee; for thou hast given me back somewhat of my lost faith 
in my kind. ” 

The old servant became very valuable to Hendon and 
the king; for he dropped in several times a day to “abuse” 
the former, and always smuggled in a few delicacies to help 
out the prison bill of fare; he also furnished the current news. 
Hendon reserved the dainties for the king; without them his 
majesty might not have survived, for he was not able to eat 
the coarse and wretched food provided by the jailer. An- 
drews was obliged to confine himself to brief visits, in order 
to avoid suspicion; but he managed to impart a fair degree 
of information each time — information delivered in a low 
voice, for Hendon’s benefit, and interlarded with insulting 
epithets delivered in a louder voice, for the benefit of other 
hearers. 

So, little by little, the story of the family came out. 

218 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Arthur had been dead six years. This loss, with the ab- 
sence of news from Hendon, impaired the father’s health; he 
believed he was going to die, and he wished to see Hugh and 
Edith settled in life before he passed away; but Edith 
begged hard for delay, hoping for Miles’s return; then the 
letter came which brought the news of Miles’s death; the 
shock prostrated Sir Richard; he believed his end was very 
near, and he and Hugh insisted upon the marriage; Edith 
begged for and obtained a month’s respite; then another, 
and finally a third; the marriage then took place, by the 
death-bed of Sir Richard. It had not proved a happy one. 
It was whispered about the country that shortly after the 
nuptials the bride found among her husband’s papers 
several rough and incomplete drafts of the fatal letter, and 
accused him of precipitating the marriage — and Sir Rich- 
ard’s death, too — by a wicked forgery. Tales of cruelty to 
the Lady Edith and the servants were to be heard on all 
hands; and since the father’s death Sir Hugh had thrown off 
all soft disguises and become a pitiless master toward all 
who in any way depended upon him and his domains for 
bread. 

There was a bit of Andrews’s gossip which the king lis- 
tened to with a lively interest : 

There is rumor that the king is mad. But in charity 
forbear to say I mentioned it, for ’tis death to speak of it, 
they say.” 

His majesty glared at the old man and said: 

‘‘The king is not mad, good man — and thou’lt find it to 
219 


The Prince and the Pauper 

thy advantage to busy thyself with matters that nearer 
concern thee than this seditious prattle. ” 

‘‘What doth the lad mean?” said Andrews, surprised at 
this brisk assault from such an unexpected quarter. Hen- 
don gave him a sign, and he did not pursue his question, but 
went on with his budget: 

“The late king is to be buried at Windsor in a day or two 
— the sixteenth of the month — and the new king will be 
crowned at W^estminster the twentieth. ” 

“Methinks they must needs find him first,” muttered 
his majesty; then added, confidently, “but they will look 
to that — and so also shall I.” 

“In the name of — ” 

But the old man got no further — a warning sign from 
Hendon checked his remark. He resumed the thread of his 
gossip. 

“Sir Hugh goeth to the coronation — and with grand 
hopes. He confidently looketh to come back a peer, for he 
is high in favor with the Lord Protector. ” 

“What Lord Protector?” asked his majesty. 

“ His grace the Duke of Somerset. ” 

“ W^hat Duke of Somerset?” 

“Marry, there is but one — Seymour, Earl of Hertford.” 

The king asked, sharply: 

“ Since when is he a duke, and Lord Protector? ” 

“Since the last day of January.” 

“And, prithee, who made him so?” 

“Himself and the Great Council — with help of the king. ” 
220 


The Prince and the Pauper 

His majesty started violently. “The king!'* he cried. 
^'What king, good sir?” 

“What king, indeed! God-a-mercy, what aileth the 
boy? Sith we have but one, ’tis not difficult to answer — 
his most sacred majesty King Edward the Sixth — whom 
God preserve! Yea, and a dear and gracious little urchin is 
he, too; and whether he be mad or no — and they say he 
mendeth daily — his praises are on all men’s lips; and all bless 
him likewise, and offer prayers that he may be spared to reign 
long in England; for he began humanely with saving the old 
Duke of Norfolk’s life, and now is he bent on destroying 
the cruelest of the laws that harry and oppress the people. ” 

This news struck his majesty dumb with amazement, and 
plunged him into so deep and dismal a reverie that he heard 
no more of the old man’s gossip. He wondered if the “little 
urchin” was the beggar-boy whom he left dressed in his own 
garments in the palace. It did not seem possible that this 
could be, for surely his manners and speech would betray 
him if he pretended to be the Prince of Wales — then he 
would be driven out, and search made for the true prince. 
Could it be that the court had set up some sprig of the 
nobility in his place? No, for his uncle would not allow 
that — he was all-powerful and could and would crush such 
a movement, of course. The boy’s musings profited him 
nothing; the more he tried to unriddle the mystery the more 
perplexed he became, the more his head ached, and the 
worse he slept. His impatience to get to London grew 
hourly, and his captivity became almost unendurable. 

221 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Hendon’s arts all failed with the king — ^he could not be 
comforted, but a couple of w^omen who were chained near 
him succeeded better. Under their gentle ministrations he 
found peace and learned a degree of patience. He was very 
grateful, and came to love them dearly and to delight in the 
sweet and soothing influence of their presence. He asked 
them why they were in prison, and when they said they were 
Baptists, he smiled, and inquired : 

“Is that a crime to be shut up for in a prison.^ Now I 
grieve, for I shall lose ye — they will not keep ye long for such 
a little thing. ” 

They did not answer; and something in their faces made 
him uneasy. He said, eagerly: 

“You do not speak — be good to me, and tell me — there 
will be no other punishment.^ Prithee, tell me there is no 
fear of that. ” 

They tried to change the topic, but his fears were 
aroused, and he pursued it: 

“Will they scourge thee? No, no, they would not be so 
cruel ! Say they would not. Come, they will not, will they?” 

The women betrayed confusion and distress, but there 
was no avoiding an answer, so one of them said, in a voice 
choked with emotion : 

“Oh, thou’lt break our hearts, thou gentle spirit! God 
will help us to bear our — ” 

“It is a confession!” the king broke in. “Then they 
will scourge thee, the stony-hearted wretches! But, oh, 
thou must not weep, I cannot bear it. Keep up thy courage 


The Prince and the Pauper 

— I shall come to my own in time to save thee from this 
bitter thing, and I will do it!” 

When the king awoke in the morning, the women were 
gone. 

“They are saved!” he said, joyfully; then added, de- 
spondently, “but woe is me! — for they were my comforters. ” 

Each of them had left a shred of ribbon pinned to his 
clothing, in token of remembrance. He said he would keep 
these things always ; and that soon he would seek out these 
dear good friends of his and take them under his protection. 

Just then the jailer came in with some subordinates and 
commanded that the prisoners be conducted to the jail-yard. 
The king was overjoyed — it would be a blessed thing to see 
the blue sky and breathe the fresh air once more. He fret- 
ted and chafed at the slowness of the officers, but his turn 
came at last and he was released from his staple and ordered 
to follow the other prisoners, with Hendon. 

The court, or quadrangle, was stone-paved, and open to 
the sky. The prisoners entered it through a massive arch- 
way of masonry, and were placed in file, standing, with their 
backs against the wall. A rope was stretched in front of 
them, and they were also guarded by their officers. It was a 
chill and lowering morning, and a light snow which had 
fallen during the night whitened the great empty space and 
added to the general dismalness of its aspect. Now and 
then a wintry wind shivered through the place and sent the 
snow eddying hither and thither. 

In the center of the court stood two women, chained to 
223 


15 


The Prince and the Pauper 

posts. A glance showed the king that these were his good 
friends. He shuddered, and said to himself, ‘‘Alack, they 
are not gone free, as I had thought. To think that such as 
these should know the lash!— in England! Ay, there’s the 
shame of it — not in Heathenesse, but Christian England! 
They will be scourged; and I, whom they have comforted 
and kindly entreated, must look on and see the great wrong 
done; it is strange, so strange ! that I, the very source of pow- 
er in this broad realm, am helpless to protect them. But let 
these miscreants look well to themselves, for there is a day 
coming when I will require of them a heavy reckoning for 
this work. For every blow they strike now they shall feel 
a hundred then. ” 

A great gate swung open and a crowd of citizens poured 
in. They flocked around the two women, and hid them 
from the king’s view. A clergyman entered and passed 
through the crowd, and he also was hidden. The king now 
heard talking, back and forth, as if questions were being 
asked and answered, but he could not make out what was 
said. Next there was a deal of bustle and preparation, and 
much passing and repassing of officials through that part of 
the crowd that stood on the further side of the women; and 
while this proceeded a deep hush gradually fell upon the 
people. 

Now, by command, the masses parted and fell aside, 
and the king saw a spectacle that froze the marrow in his 
bones. Fagots had been piled about the two women, and a 
kneeling man was lighting them ! 


The Prince and the Pauper 

The women bowed their heads, and covered their faces 
with their hands; the yellow flames began to climb upward 
among the snapping and crackling fagots, and wreaths of 
blue smoke to stream away on the wind; the clergyman lifted 
his hands and began a prayer — just then two young girls 
came flying through the gate, uttering piercing screams, 
and threw themselves upon the women at the stake. In- 
stantly they were torn away by the officers, and one of them 
was kept in a tight grip, but the other broke loose, saying 
she would die with her mother; and before she could be 
stopped she had flung her arms about her mother’s neck 
again. She was torn away once more, and with her gown 
on fire. Two or three men held her, and the burning portion 
of her gown was snatched off and thrown flaming aside, she 
struggling all the while to free herself, and saying she would 
be alone in the world now, and begging to be allowed to 
die with her mother. Both girls screamed continually, and 
fought for freedom; but suddenly this tumult was drowned 
under a volley of heart-piercing shrieks of mortal agony. 
The king glanced from the frantic girls to the stake, then 
turned away and leaned his ashen face against the wall, and 
looked no more. He said, ‘‘That which I have seen, in that 
one little moment, will never go out from my memory, but 
will abide there; and I shall see it all the days, and dream of 
it all the nights, till I die. Would God I had been blind ! ” 

Hendon was watching the king. He said to himself, 
with satisfaction, “His disorder mendeth; he hath changed, 
and growxth gentler. If he had followed his wont, he 
225 


The Prince and the Pauper 

would have stormed at these varlets, and said he was king, 
and commanded that the women be turned loose unscathed. 
Soon his delusion will pass away and be forgotten, and his 
poor mind will be whole again. God speed the day!” 

That same day several prisoners were brought in to 
remain overnight, who were being conveyed, under guard, 
to various places in the kingdom, to undergo punishment 
for crimes committed. The king conversed with these — 
he had made it a point, from the beginning, to instruct 
himself for the kingly office by questioning prisoners when- 
ever the opportunity offered — and the tale of their woes 
wrung his heart. One of them was a poor half-witted 
woman who had stolen a yard or two of cloth from a w eaver 
— she was to be hanged for it. Another was a man who 
had been accused of stealing a horse; he said the proof had 
failed, and he had imagined that he was safe from the 
halter; but no — he was hardly free before he was arraigned 
for killing a deer in the king’s park; this was proved against 
him, and now he was on his way to the gallows. There was 
a tradesman’s apprentice whose case particularly distressed 
the king; this youth said he found a hawk one evening that 
had escaped from its owner, and he took it home with him, 
imagining himself entitled to it; but the court convicted 
him of stealing it, and sentenced him to death. 

The king was furious over these inhumanities, and wanted 
Hendon to break jail and fly with him to Westminster, so 
that he could mount his throne and hold out his scepter in 
mercy over these unfortunate people and save their lives. 

226 


The Prince and the Pauper 

^‘Poor child,” sighed Hendon, ‘‘these woeful tales have 
brought his malady upon him again — alack, but for this evil 
hap, he would have been well in a little time. ” 

Among these prisoners was an old lawyer — a man with 
a strong face and a dauntless mien. Three years past, he 
had written a pamphlet against the Lord Chancellor, accus- 
ing him of injustice, and had been punished for it by the 
loss of his ears in the pillory and degradation from the bar, 
and in addition had been fined £3,000 and sentenced to 
imprisonment for life. Lately he had repeated his offense; 
and in consequence was now under sentence to lose what 
remained of his ears, pay a fine of £5,000, be branded on 
both cheeks, and remain in prison for life. 

“These be honorable scars,” he said, and turned back 
his gray hair and showed the mutilated stubs of what 
had once been his ears. 

The king’s eye burned with passion. He said: 

“ None believe in me — neither wilt thou. But no matter 
— within the compass of a month thou shalt be free; and 
more, the laws that have dishonored thee, and shamed the 
English name, shall be swept from the statute-books. 
The world is made wrong, kings should go to school to their 
own laws at times, and so learn mercy.”/ 


1 See Notes to Chapter 27. at end of the volume. 


XXVIII 


THE SACRIFICE 

M eantime Miles was growing sufficiently tired of 
confinement and inaction. But now his trial came on, 
to his great gratification, and he thought he could welcome 
any sentence provided a further imprisonment should 
not be a part of it. But he was mistaken about that. 
He was in a fine fury when he found himself described as a 
‘"sturdy vagabond” and sentenced to sit two hours in the 
pillory for bearing that character and for assaulting the 
master of Hendon Hall. His pretensions as to brothership 
with his prosecutor, and rightful heirship to the Hendon 
honors and estates, were left contemptuously unnoticed, as 
being not even worth examination. 

He raged and threatened on his way to punishment, 
but it did no good, he was snatched roughly along by the 
officers, and got an occasional cuff, besides, for his un- 
reverent conduct. 

The king could not pierce through the rabble that 
swarmed behind; so he was obliged to follow in the rear, 
remote from his good friend and servant. The king had 
been nearly condemned to the stocks himself, for being in 
9m 


The Prince and the Pauper 

such bad company, but had been let off with a lecture and a 
warning, in consideration of his youth. When the crowd 
at last halted, he flitted feverishly from point to point 
around its outer rim, hunting a place to get through; and at 
last, after a deal of diflSculty and delay, succeeded. There 
sat his poor henchman in the degrading stocks, the sport 
and butt of a dirty mob — he, the body servant of the king 
of England! Edward had heard the sentence pronounced, 
but he had not realized the half that it meant. His anger 
began to rise as the sense of this new indignity which had 
been put upon him sank home; it jumped to summer heat 
the next moment, when he saw an egg sail through the air 
and crush itself against Hendon’s cheek, and heard the 
crowd roar its enjoyment of the episode. He sprang across 
the open circle and confronted the oflScer in charge, crying: 

“For shame! This is my servant — set him free! I 
am the — ” 

“Oh, peace!” exclaimed Hendon, in a panic, “thou’lt 
destroy thyself. Mind him not, oflacer, he is mad.” 

“Give thyself no trouble as to the matter of minding 
him, good man, I have small mind to mind him; but as to 
teaching him somewhat, to that I am well inclined. ” He 
turned to a subordinate and said, “Give the little fool a 
taste or two of the lash, to mend his manners.” 

“Half a dozen will better serve his turn,” suggested 
Sir Hugh, who had ridden up a moment before to take a 
passing glance at the proceedings. 

The king was seized. He did not even struggle, so 


The Prince and the Pauper 

paralyzed was he with the mere thought of the monstrous 
outrage that was proposed to be inflicted upon his sacred 
person. History was already defiled with the record of the 
scourging of an English king with whips — it was an intoler- 
able reflection that he must furnish a duplicate of that 
shameful page. He was in the toils, there was no help for 
him; he must either take this punishment or beg for its 
remission. Hard conditions; he would take the stripes — a 
king might do that, but a king could not beg. 

But meantime. Miles Hendon was resolving the diffi- 
culty. “Let the child go,’’ said he; “ye heartless dogs, do 
ye not see how young and frail he is? Let him go — I will 
take his lashes.” 

“Marry, a good thought^ — and thanks for it,” said 
Sir Hugh, his face lighting with a sardonic satisfaction. 
“Let the little beggar go, and give this fellow a dozen in his 
place — an honest dozen, well laid on.” The king was in 
the act of entering a fierce protest, but Sir Hugh silenced 
him with the potent remark, “Yes, speak up, do, and free 
thy mind — only, mark ye, that for each word you utter he 
shall get six strokes the more. ” 

Hendon was removed from the stocks, and his back laid 
bare; and while the lash was applied the poor little king 
turned away his face and allowed unroyal tears to channel 
his cheeks unchecked. “Ah, brave good heart,” he said 
to himself, “this loyal deed shall never perish out of my 
memory. I will not forget it — and neither shall they!'' he 
added, with passion. While he mused, his appreciation of 
2S0 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Hendon’s magnanimous conduct grew to greater and still 
greater dimensions in his mind, and so also did his grate- 
fulness for it. Presently he said to himself, “Who saves 
his prince from wounds and possible death — and this he 
did for me — ^performs high service; but it is little — it is 
nothing! — oh, less than nothing! — when ’tis weighed against 
the act of him who saves his prince from shame!” 

Hendon made no outcry under the scourge, but bore the 
heavy blows with soldierly fortitude. This, together with 
his redeeming the boy by taking his stripes for him, com- 
pelled the respect of even that forlorn and degraded mob 
that was gathered there; and its gibes and hootings died 
away, and no sound remained but the sound of the falling 
blows. The stillness that pervaded the place when Hendon 
found himself once more in the stocks was in strong con- 
trast with the insulting clamor which had prevailed there 
so little a while before. The king came softly to Hendon’s 
side, and whispered in his ear: 

“Kings cannot ennoble thee, thou good, great soul, for 
One who is higher than kings hath done that for thee; but a 
king can confirm thy nobility to men.” He picked up 
the scourge from the ground, touched Hendon’s bleeding 
shoulders lightly with it, and whispered, “Edward of Eng- 
land dubs thee earl!” 

Hendon was touched. The water welled to his eyes, 
yet at the same time the grisly humor of the situation and 
circumstances so undermined his gravity that it was all he 
could do to keep some sign of his inward mirth from showing 

m 


The Prince and the Pauper 

outside. To be suddenly hoisted, naked and gory, from the 
common stocks to the Alpine altitude and splendor of an 
earldom, seemed to him the last possibility in the line of 
the grotesque. He said to himself, ‘‘Now am I finely 
tinseled, indeed! The specter-knight of the Kingdom of 
Dreams and Shadows is become a specter-earl! — a dizzy 
flight for a callow wing! An this go on, I shall presently 
be hung like a very May-pole with fantastic gauds and 
make-believe honors. But I shall value them, all valueless 
as they are, for the love that doth bestow them. Better 
these poor mock dignities of mine, that come unasked from 
a clean hand and a right spirit, than real ones bought by 
servility from grudging and interested power. ’’ 

The dreaded Sir Hugh wheeled his horse about, and, as 
he spurred away, the living wall divided silently to let him 
pass, and as silently closed together again. And so re- 
mained; nobody went so far as to venture a remark in favor 
of the prisoner, or in compliment to him; but no matter, the 
absence of abuse was a sufiicient homage in itself. A late 
comer who was not posted as to the present circumstances, 
and who delivered a sneer at the “impostor” and was in 
the act of following it with a dead cat, was promptly 
knocked down and kicked out, without any words, and 
then the deep quiet resumed sway once more. 


XXIX 


TO LONDON 

TyiTHEN Hendon’s term of service in the stocks was 
▼ ▼ finished, he was released and ordered to quit the 
region and come back no more. His sword was restored 
to him and also his mule and his donkey. He mounted 
and rode off, followed by the king, the crowd opening with 
quiet respectfulness to let them pass, and then dispersing 
when they were gone. 

Hendon was soon absorbed in thought. There were 
questions of high import to be answered. What should he 
do? Whither should he go? Powerful help must be found 
somewhere, or he must relinquish his inheritance and re- 
main under the imputation of being an impostor besides. 
Where could he hope to find this powerful help? Where, 
indeed! It was a knotty question. By and by a thought 
occurred to him which pointed to a possibility — the slender- 
est of slender possibilities, certainly, but still worth con- 
sidering, for lack of any other that promised anything at 
all. He remembered what old Andrews had said about 
the yoimg king’s goodness and his generous championship 
of the wronged and unfortunate. Why not go and try to 
get speedb of him and beg for justice? Ah, yes, but could 


The Prince and the Pauper 

so fantastic a pauper get admission to the august presence 
of a monarch? Never mind — let that matter take care of 
itself ; it was a bridge that would not need to be crossed till 
he should come to it. He was an old campaigner, and used 
to inventing shifts and expedients; no doubt he would be 
able to find a way. Yes, he would strike for the capital. 
Maybe his father’s old friend. Sir Humphrey Marlow, 
would help him — ‘‘good old Sir Humphrey, Head Lieutenant 
of the late king’s kitchen, or stables, or something” — Miles 
could not remember just what or which. Now that he had 
something to turn his energies to, a distinctly defined object 
to accomplish, the fog of humiliation and depression which 
had settled down upon his spirits lifted and blew away, 
and he raised his head and looked about him. He was sur- 
prised to see how far he had come; the village was away 
behind him. The king was jogging along in his wake, with 
his head bowed; for he, too, was deep in his plans and think- 
ings. A sorrowful misgiving clouded Hendon’s new-born 
cheerfulness; would the boy be willing to go again to a city 
where, during all his brief life, he had never known anything 
but ill usage and pinching want? But the question must 
be asked; it could not be avoided; so Hendon reined up, 
and called out: 

“I had forgotten to inquire whither we are bound. 
Thy commands, my liege? ” 

“To London!” 

Hendon moved on again, mightily contented with the 
answer — but astonished at it, too. 

234 


The Prince and the Pauper 

The whole journey was made without an adventure of 
importance. But it ended with one. About ten o’clock 
on the night of the 19th of February, they stepped upon 
London Bridge, in the midst of a writhing, struggling jam 
of howling and hurrahing people, whose beer-jolly faces 
stood out strongly in the glare from manifold torches — 
and at that instant the decaying head of some former duke 
or other grandee tumbled down between them, striking 
Hendon on the elbow and then bounding off among the 
hurrying confusion of feet. So evanescent and unstable 
are men’s works in this world! — the late good king is but 
three weeks dead and three days in his grave, and already 
the adornments which he took such pains to select from 
prominent people for his noble bridge are falling. A citizen 
stumbled over that head, and drove his own head into 
the back of somebody in front of him, who turned and 
knocked down the first person that came handy, and was 
promptly laid out himself by that person’s friend. It was 
the right ripe time for a free fight, for the festivities of the 
morrow— Coronation Day — were already beginning; every- 
body was full of strong drink and patriotism; within five 
minutes the free fight was occupying a good deal of ground; 
within ten or twelve it covered an acre or so, and was be- 
come a riot. By this time Hendon and the king were hope- 
lessly separated from each other and lost in the rush and 
turmoil of the roaring masses of humanity. And so we 
leave them. 


XXX 


tom’s progress 

W HILST the true king wandered about the land, poorly 
clad, poorly fed, cuffed and derided by tramps one 
while, herding with thieves and murderers in a jail another, 
and called idiot and impostor by all impartially, the mock 
King Tom Canty enjoyed a quite different experience. 

When we saw him last, royalty was just beginning to 
have a bright side for him. This bright side went on 
brightening more and more every day; in a very little 
while it was become almost all sunshine and delightfulness. 
He lost his fears; his misgivings faded out and died; his 
embarrassments departed, and gave place to an easy and 
confident bearing. He worked the whipping-boy mine to 
ever-increasing profit. 

He ordered my Lady Elizabeth and my Lady Jane 
Grey into his presence when he wanted to play or talk, and 
dismissed them when he was done with them, with the air 
of one familiarly accustomed to such performances. It no 
longer confused him to have these lofty personages kiss his 
hand at parting. 

He came to enjoy being conducted to bed in state ^ 
236 


The Prince and the Pauper 

night, and dressed with intricate and solemn ceremony in 
the morning. It came to be a proud pleasure to march to 
dinner attended by a glittering procession of officers of 
state and gentlemen-at-arms ; insomuch, indeed, that he 
doubled his guard of gentlemen-at-arms, and made them 
a hundred. He liked to hear the bugles sounding down the 
long corridors, and the distant voices responding, “Way 
for the King!” 

He even learned to enjoy sitting in throned state in 
council, and seeming to be something more than the Lord 
Protector’s mouthpiece. He liked to receive great ambas- 
sadors and their gorgeous trains, and listen to the affection- 
ate messages they brought from illustrious monarchs who 
called him “brother.” Oh, happy Tom Canty, late of 
Offal Court! 

He enjoyed his splendid clothes, and ordered more; he 
found his four hundred servants too few for his proper 
grandeur, and trebled them. The adulation of salaaming 
courtiers came to be sweet music to his ears. He remained 
kind and gentle, and a sturdy and determined champion 
of all that were oppressed, and he made tireless war upon 
unjust laws; yet upon occasion, being offended, he could 
turn upon an earl, or even a duke, and give him a look 
that would make him tremble. Once, when his royal 
“sister,” the grimly holy Lady Mary, set herself to reason 
with him against the wisdom of his course in pardoning so 
many people who would otherwise be jailed, or hanged, or 
burned, and reminded him that their august late father’s 

237 


The Prince and the Pauper 

prisons had sometimes contained as high as sixty thousand 
convicts at one time, and that during his admirable reign 
he had delivered seventy-two thousand thieves and robbers 
over to death by the executioner,^ the boy was filled with 
generous indignation, and commanded her to go to her 
closet, and beseech God to take away the stone that was in 
her breast, and give her a human heart. 

Did Tom Canty never feel troubled about the poor littie 
rightful prince who had treated him so kindly, and flown 
out with such hot zeal to avenge him upon the insolent 
sentinel at the palace gate? Yes; his first royal days and 
nights were pretty well sprinkled with painful thoughts 
about the lost prince, and with sincere longings for his re- 
turn and happy restoration to his native rights and splen- 
dors. But as time wore on, and the prince did not come, 
Tom’s mind became more and more occupied with his new 
and enchanting experiences, and by little and little the 
vanished monarch faded almost out of his thoughts; and 
finally, when he did intrude upon them at intervals, he was 
become an unwelcome specter, for he made Tom feel guilty 
and ashamed. 

Tom’s poor mother and sisters traveled the same road 
out of his mind. At first he pined for them, sorrowed for 
them, longed to see them; but later, the thought of their 
coming some day in their rags and dirt, and betraying him 
with their kisses, and pulling him down from his lofty place, 
and dragging him back to penury and degradation and the 


^ Hume’s England. 
238 


The Prince and the Pauper 

slums, made him shudder. At last they ceased to trouble 
his thoughts almost wholly. And he was content, even 
glad; for, whenever their mournful and accusing faces did 
rise before him now, they made him feel more despicable 
than the worms that crawl. 

At midnight of the 19th of February, Tom Canty was 
sinking to sleep in his rich bed in the palace, guarded by his 
loyal vassals, and surrounded by the pomps of royalty, a 
happy boy; for to-morrow was the day appointed for his 
solemn crowning as king of England. At that same hour, 
Edward, the true king, hungry and thirsty, soiled and 
draggled, worn with travel, and clothed in rags and shreds — 
his share of the results of the riot — was wedged in among a 
crowd of people who were watching with deep interest 
certain hurrying gangs of workmen who streamed in and 
out of Westminster Abbey, busy as ants; they were making 
the last preparation for the royal coronation. 

I6 


XXXI 


THE RECOGNITION PROCESSION 

W HEN Tom Canty awoke the next morning, the air was 
heavy with a thunderous murmur; all the distances 
were charged with it. It was music to him; for it meant 
that the English world was out in its strength to give loyal 
welcome to the great day. 

Presently Tom found himself once more the chief 
figure in a wonderful floating pageant on the Thames; for 
by ancient custom the “recognition procession” through 
London must start from the Tower, and he was bound 
thither. 

When he arrived there, the sides of the venerable fortress 
seemed suddenly rent in a thousand places, and from every 
rent leaped a red tongue of flame and a white gush of 
smoke; a deafening explosion followed, which drowned 
the shoutings of the multitude, and made the ground trem- 
ble; the flame-jets, the smoke, and the explosions were 
repeated over and over again with marvelous celerity, so 
that in a few moments the old Tower disappeared in the vast 
fog of its own smoke, all but the very top of the tall pile 
called the White Tower; this, with its banners, stood out 
240 


The Prince and the Pauper 

above the dense bank of vapor as a mountain peak projects 
above a cloud-rack. 

Tom Canty, splendidly arrayed, mounted a prancing 
war-steed, whose rich trappings almost reached to the 
ground; his uncle, the Lord Protector Somerset, similarly 
mounted, took place in his rear; the King’s Guard formed 
in single ranks on either side, clad in burnished armor; 
after the Protector followed a seemingly interminable pro- 
cession of resplendent nobles attended by their vassals ; 
after these came the lord mayor and the aldermanic body, 
in crimson velvet robes, and with their gold chains across 
their breasts; and after these the officers and members of 
all the guilds of London, in rich raiment, and bearing the 
showy banners of the several corporations. Also in the 
procession, as a special guard of honor through the city, was 
the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company — an organ- 
ization already three hundred years old at that time, and 
the only military body in England possessing the privilege 
(which it still possesses in our day) of holding itself inde- 
pendent of the commands of Parliament. It was a brilliant 
spectacle, and was hailed with acclamations all along the 
line, as it took its stately way through the packed multi- 
tudes of citizens. The chronicler says, ‘‘The king, as he 
entered the city, was received by the people with prayers, 
welcomings, cries, and tender words, and all signs which 
argue an earnest love of subjects toward their sovereign; 
and the king, by holding up his glad countenance to such 
as stood afar off, and most tender language to those that 

241 


The Prince and the Pauper 

stood nigh his Grace, showed himself no less thankful to 
receive the people’s good will than they to offer it. To 
all that wished him well, he gave thanks. To such as bade 
‘ God save his Grace,’ he said in return, ‘ God save you all !’ 
and added that ‘he thanked them with all his heart.’ 
Wonderfully transported were the people with the loving 
answers and gestures of their king. ” 

In Fenchurch Street a “fair child, in costly apparel,” 
stood on a stage to welcome his majesty to the city. The 
last verse of his greeting was in these w’ords : 

Welcome, O King! as much as hearts can think; 

Welcome again, as much as tongue can tell — 

Welcome to joyous tongues, and hearts that will not shrink; 

God thee preserve, we pray, and wish thee ever well. 

The people burst forth in a glad shout, repeating with 
one voice what the child had said. Tom Canty gazed 
abroad over the surging sea of eager faces, and his heart 
swelled with exultation; and he felt that the one thing 
worth living for in this world was to be a king, and a nation’s 
idol. Presently he caught sight, at a distance, of a couple 
of his ragged Offal Court comrades — one of them the lord 
high admiral in his late mimic court, the other the first 
lord of the bedchamber in the same pretentious fiction; 
and his pride swelled higher than ever. Oh, if they could 
only recognize him now! What unspeakable glory it 
would be, if they could recognize him, and realize that the 
derided mock king of the slums and back alleys was become 

242 


The Prince and the Pauper 

a real king, with illustrious dukes and princes for his humble 
menials, and the English world at his feet! But he had to 
deny himself, and choke down his desire, for such a recog- 
nition might cost more than it would come to; so he turned 
away his head, and left the two soiled lads to go on with 
their shoutings and glad adulations, unsuspicious of whom 
it was they were lavishing them upon. 

Every now and then rose the cry, ‘‘A largess! a largess!” 
and Tom responded by scattering a handful of bright new 
coins abroad for the multitude to scramble for. 

The chronicler says, ‘‘At the upper end of Gracechurch 
Street, before the sign of the Eagle, the city had erected a 
gorgeous arch, beneath which was a stage, which stretched 
from one side of the street to the other. This was a histori- 
cal pageant, representing the king’s immediate progenitors. 
There sat Elizabeth of York in the midst of an immense 
white rose, whose petals formed elaborate furbelows around 
her; by her side was Henry VII., issuing out of a vast red 
rose, disposed in the same manner; the hands of the royal 
pair were locked together, and the wedding-ring ostenta- 
tiously displayed. From the red and white roses proceeded 
a stem, which reached up to a second stage, occupied by 
Henry VIII., issuing from a red-and-white rose, with the 
effigy of the new king’s mother, Jane Seymour, represented 
by his side. One branch sprang from this pair, which 
mounted to a third stage, where sat the effigy of Edward 
VI. himself, enthroned in royal majesty; and the whole 
pageant was framed with wreaths of roses, red and white. ” 

243 


The Prince and the Pauper 

This quaint and gaudy spectacle so wrought upon the 
rejoicing people, that their acclamations utterly smothered 
the small voice of the child whose business it was to explain 
the thing in eulogistic rhymes. But Tom Canty was not 
sorry; for this loyal uproar was sweeter music to him than 
any poetry, no matter what its quality might be. Whither- 
soever Tom turned his happy young face, the people recog- 
nized the exactness of his effigy’s likeness to himself, the 
flesh-and-blood counterpart; and new whirlwinds of applause 
burst forth. 

The great pageant moved on, and still on, under one 
triumphal arch after another, and past a bewildering suc- 
cession of spectacular and symbolical tableaux, each of 
which typified and exalted some virtue, or talent, or merit, 
of the little king’s. “Throughout the whole of Cheapside, 
from every penthouse and window, hung banners and 
streamers; and the richest carpets, stuffs, and cloth-of-gold 
tapestried the streets — specimens of the great wealth of 
the stores within; and the splendor of this thoroughfare 
was equaled in the other streets, and in some even sur- 
passed.” 

“And all these wonders and these marvels are to wel- 
come me — me!” murmured Tom Canty. 

The mock king’s cheeks were flushed with excitement, 
his eyes were flashing, his senses swam in a delirium of 
pleasure. At this point, just as he was raising his hand to 
fling another rich largess, he caught sight of a pale, astound- 
ed face which was strained forward out of the second rank 
244 

























SHE EMBRACED HIS LEG, SHE COVERED IT WITH KISSES, SHE CRIED, “o, MY CHILD. 

MY darling!” 


The Prince and the Pauper 

of the crowd, its intense eyes riveted upon him. A sicken- 
ing consternation struck through him; he recognized his 
mother! and up flew his hand, palm outward, before his 
eyes — that old involuntary gesture, born of a forgotten 
episode, and perpetuated by habit. In an instant more she 
had torn her way out of the press, and past the guards, and 
was at his side. She embraced his leg, she covered it with 
kisses, she cried, ‘‘O, my child, my darling!” lifting toward 
him a face that was transfigured with joy and love. The 
same instant an oflBcer of the King’s Guard snatched her 
away with a curse, and sent her reeling back whence she 
came with a vigorous impulse from his strong arm. The 
words “I do not know you, woman!” were falling from 
Tom Canty’s lips when this piteous thing occurred; but it 
smote him to the heart to see her treated so; and as she 
turned for a last glimpse of him, whilst the crowd was 
swallowing her from his sight, she seemed so wounded, so 
broken-hearted, that a shame fell upon him which consumed 
his pride to ashes, and withered his stolen royalty. His 
grandeurs were stricken valueless; they seemed to fall away 
from him like rotten rags. 

The procession moved on, and still on, through ever- 
augmenting splendors and ever-augmenting tempests of 
welcome; but to Tom Canty they were as if they had not 
been. He neither saw nor heard. Royalty had lost its 
grace and sweetness; its pomps were become a reproach. 
Remorse was eating his heart out. He said, ‘‘Would God I 
were free of my captivity!” 

m 


The Prince and the Pauper 

He had unconsciously dropped back into the phraseology 
of the first days of his compulsory greatness. 

The shining pageant still went winding like a radiant 
and interminable serpent down the crooked lanes of the 
quaint old city, and through the huzzaing hosts; but still 
the king rode with bowed head and vacant eyes, seeing only 
his mother’s face and that wounded look in it. 

‘‘Largess, largess!” The cry fell upon an unheeding 
ear. 

“Long live Edward of England!” It seemed as if the 
earth shook with the explosion; but there was no response 
from the king. He heard it only as one hears the thunder 
of the surf when it is blown to the ear out of a great distance, 
for it was smothered under another sound which was still 
nearer, in his own breast, in his accusing conscience — a voice 
which kept repeating those shameful words, “I do not 
know you, woman!” 

The words smote upon the king’s soul as the strokes of 
a fimeral bell smite upon the soul of a surviving friend 
when they remind him of secret treacheries suffered at his 
hands by him that is gone. 

New glories were unfolded at every turning; new won- 
ders, new marvels, sprung into view; the pent clamors of 
waiting batteries were released; new raptures poured from 
the throats of the waiting multitudes; but the king gave no 
sign, and the accusing voice that went moaning through his 
comfortless breast was all the sound he heard. 

By and by the gladness in the faces of the populace 
246 


The Prince and the Pauper 

changed a little, and became touched with a something like 
solicitude or anxiety; an abatement in the volume of ap- 
plause was observable too. The Lord Protector was quick 
to notice these things; he was as quick to detect the cause. 
He spurred to the king’s side, bent low in his saddle, uncov- 
ered, and said: 

‘‘My liege, it is an ill time for dreaming. The people 
observe thy downcast head, thy clouded mien, and they 
take it for an omen. Be advised; unveil the sun of royalty, 
and let it shine upon these boding vapors, and disperse 
them. Lift up thy face, and smile upon the people.” 

So saying, the duke scattered a handful of coins to right 
and left, then retired to his place. The mock king did 
mechanically as he had been bidden. His smile had no 
heart in it, but few eyes were near enough or sharp enough 
to detect that. The noddings of his plumed head as he 
saluted his subjects were full of grace and graciousness; 
the largess which he delivered from his hand was royally 
liberal; so the people’s anxiety vanished, and the ac- 
clamations burst forth again in as mighty a volume as 
before. 

Still once more, a little before the progress was ended, 
the duke was obliged to ride forward, and make remon- 
strance. He whispered : 

“O dread sovereign! shake off these fatal humors; the 
eyes of the world are upon thee.” Then he added with 
sharp annoyance, “Perdition catch that crazy pauper! 

’twas she that hath disturbed your highness. ” 

247 


The Prince and the Pauper 

The gorgeous figure turned a lusterless eye upon the 
duke, and said in a dead voice: 

“She was my mother!” 

“My God!” groaned the Protector as he reined his horse 
backward to his post, “the omen was pregnant with proph- 
ecy. He is gone mad again ! ” 


XXXII 


CORONATION DAY 

XET US go backward a few hours, and place ourselves in 
Westminster Abbey, at four o’clock in the morning of 
this memorable Coronation Day. We are not without 
company; for although it is still night, we find the torch- 
lighted galleries already filling up with people who are well 
content to sit still and wait seven or eight hours till the time 
shall come for them to see what they may not hope to see 
twice in their lives — the coronation of a king. Yes, London 
and Westminster have been astir ever since the warning 
guns boomed at three o’clock, and already crowds of untitled 
rich folk who have bought the privilege of trying to find 
sitting-room in the galleries are flocking in at the entrances 
reserved for their sort. 

The hours drag along, tediously enough. All stir has 
ceased for some time, for every gallery has long ago been 
packed. We may sit now, and look and think at our leisure. 
We have glimpses, here and there and yonder, through the 
dim cathedral twilight, of portions of many galleries and 
balconies, wedged full with people, the other portions of 
these galleries and balconies being cut off from sight by 
249 


The Prince and the Pauper 

intervening pillars and architectural projections. We have 
in view the whole of the great north transept — empty, and 
waiting for England’s privileged ones. We see also the 
ample area of platform, carpeted with rich stuffs, whereon 
the throne stands. The throne occupies the center of the 
platform, and is raised above it upon an elevation of four 
steps. Within the seat of the throne is inclosed a rough 
flat rock — the stone of Scone — which many generations of 
Scottish kings sat on to be crowned, and so it in time became 
holy enough to answer a like purpose for English monarchs. 
Both the throne and its footstool are covered with cloth- 
of-gold. 

Stillness reigns, the torches blink dully, the time drags 
heavily. But at last the lagging daylight asserts itself, the 
torches are extinguished, and a mellow radiance suffuses the 
great spaces. All features of the noble building are distinct 
now, but soft and dreamy, for the sun is lightly veiled with 
clouds. 

At seven o’clock the first break in the drowsy monotony 
occurs; for on the stroke of this hour the first peeress enters 
the transept, clothed like Solomon for splendor, and is con- 
ducted to her appointed place by an official clad in satins 
and velvets, whilst a duplicate of him gathers up the lady’s 
long train, follows after, and, when the lady is seated, 
arranges the train across her lap for her. He then places 
her footstool according to her desire, after which he puts her 
coronet where it will be convenient to her hand when the time 
for the simultaneous coroneting of the nobles shall arrive. 

250 


The Prince and the Pauper 

By this time the peeresses are flowing in in a glittering 
stream, and satin-clad officials are flitting and glinting 
everywhere, seating them and making them comfortable. 
The scene is animated enough now. There is stir and life, 
and shifting color everywhere. After a time, quiet reigns 
again; for the peeresses are all come, and are all in their 
places — a solid acre, or such a matter, of human flowers, 
resplendent in variegated colors, and frosted like a Milky 
Way with diamonds. There are all ages here: brown, 
wrinkled, white-haired dowagers who are able to go back, 
and still back, down the stream of time, and recall the 
crowning of Richard III. and the troublous days of that old 
forgotten age; and there are handsome middle-aged dames; 
and lovely and gracious young matrons; and gentle and 
beautiful young girls, with beaming eyes and fresh com- 
plexions, who may possibly put on their jeweled coronets 
awkwardly when the great time comes; for the matter will 
be new to them, and their excitement will be a sore hin- 
drance. Still, this may not happen, for the hair of all these 
ladies has been arranged with a special view to the swift 
and successful lodging of the crown in its place when the 
signal comes. 

We have seen that this massed array of peeresses is 
sown thick with diamonds, and we also see that it is a 
marvelous spectacle — but now we are about to be astonished 
in earnest. About nine, the clouds suddenly break away 
and a shaft of sunshine cleaves the mellow atmosphere, and 
drifts slowly along the ranks of ladies; and every rank it 

251 


The Prince and the Pauper 

touches flames into a dazzling splendor of many-colored 
fires, and we tingle to our finger-tips with the electric thrill 
that is shot through us by the surprise and the beauty of the 
spectacle! Presently a special envoy from some distant 
corner of the Orient, marching with the general body of 
foreign ambassadors, crosses this bar of sunshine, and we 
catch our breath, the glory that streams and flashes and 
palpitates about him is so overpowering; for he is crusted 
from head to heels with gems, and his slightest movement 
showers a dancing radiance all around him. 

Let us change the tense for convenience. The time 
drifted along — one hour — two hours — two hours and a half ; 
then the deep booming of artillery told that the king and 
his grand procession had arrived at last; so the waiting 
multitude rejoiced. All knew that a further delay must 
follow, for the king must be prepared and robed for the 
solemn ceremony; but this delay would be pleasantly occu- 
pied by the assembling of the peers of the realm in their 
stately robes. These were conducted ceremoniously to their 
seats, and their coronets placed conveniently at hand; and 
meanwhile the multitude in the galleries were alive with 
interest, for most of them were beholding, for the first time, 
dukes, earls, and barons whose names had been historical 
for five hundred years. When all were finally seated, the 
spectacle from the galleries and all coigns of vantage was 
complete; a gorgeous one to look upon and to remember. 

Now the robed and mitered great heads of the church, 
and their attendants, filed in upon the platform and took 
252 


The Prince and the Pauper 

their appointed places; these were followed by the Lord 
Protector and other great officials, and these again by a 
Steel-clad detachment of the Guard. 

There was a waiting pause; then, at a signal, a tri- 
umphant peal of music burst forth, and Tom Canty, 
clothed in a long robe of cloth-of-gold, appeared at a door, 
and stepped upon the platform. The entire multitude rose, 
and the ceremony of the Recognition ensued. 

Then a noble anthem swept the Abbey with its rich 
waves of sound; and thus heralded and welcomed, Tom 
Canty was conducted to the throne. The ancient cere- 
monies went on with impressive solemnity, whilst the audi- 
ence gazed; and as they drew nearer and nearer to comple- 
tion, Tom Canty grew pale, and still paler, and a deep and 
steadily deepening woe and despondency settled down upon 
his spirits and upon his remorseful heart. 

At last the final act was at hand. The Archbishop of 
Canterbury lifted up the crown of England from its cushion 
and held it out over the trembling mock king’s head. In 
the same instant a rainbow radiance flashed along the 
spacious transept; for with one impulse every individual in 
the great concourse of nobles lifted a coronet and poised 
it over his or her head — and paused in that attitude. 

A deep hush pervaded the Abbey. At this impressive 
moment, a startling apparition intruded upon the scene — 
an apparition observed by none in the absorbed multitude, 
until it suddenly appeared, moving up the great central 
aisle. It was a boy, bareheaded, ill shod, and clothed in 

253 


The Prince and the Pauper 

coarse plebeian garments that were falling to rags. He 
raised his hand with a solemnity which ill comported with 
his soiled and sorry aspect, and delivered this note of 
warning : 

“I forbid you to set the crown of England upon that 
forfeited head. I am the king ! ” 

In an instant several indignant hands were laid upon 
the boy; but in the same instant Tom Canty, in his regal 
vestments, made a swift step forward and cried out in a 
ringing voice: 

‘‘Loose him and forbear! He is the king!” 

A sort of panic of astonishment swept the assemblage, 
and they partly rose in their places and stared in a bewil- 
dered way at one another and at the chief figures in this 
scene, like persons who wondered whether they were awake 
and in their senses, or asleep and dreaming. The Lord 
Protector was as amazed as the rest, but quickly recovered 
himself and exclaimed in a voice of authority : 

“Mind not his Majesty, his malady is upon him again; 
seize the vagabond!” 

He would have been obeyed, but the mock king stamped 
his foot and cried out : 

“On your peril! Touch him not, he is the king!” 

The hands were withheld; a paralysis fell upon the house; 
no one moved, no one spoke; indeed, no one knew how to 
act or what to say, in so strange and surprising an emer- 
gency. While all minds were struggling to right themselves, 
the boy still moved steadily forward, with high port and 
254 


The Prince and the Pauper 

confident mien; he had never halted from the beginning; 
and while the tangled minds still floundered helplessly, he 
stepped upon the platform, and the mock king ran with a glad 
face to meet him; and fell on his knees before him and said: 

“O, my lord the king, let poor Tom Canty be first to 
swear fealty to thee, and say, ‘Put on thy crown and enter 
into thine own again!”’ 

The Lord Protector’s eye fell sternly upon the new- 
comer’s face; but straightway the sternness vanished away, 
and gave place to an expression of wondering surprise. 
This thing happened also to the other great officers. They 
glanced at each other, and retreated a step by a common 
and unconscious impulse. The thought in each mind was 
the same: “What a strange resemblance!” 

The Lord Protector reflected a moment or two in per- 
plexity, then he said, with grave respectfulness: 

“By your favor, sir, I desire to ask certain questions 
which — ” 

“I will answer them, my lord. ” 

The duke asked him many questions about the court, 
the late king, the prince, the princesses. The boy answered 
them correctly and without hesitating. He described the 
rooms of state in the palace, the late king’s apartments, and 
those of the Prince of Wales. 

It was strange; it was wonderful; yes, it was unaccount- 
able— so all said that heard it. The tide was beginning to 
turn, and Tom Canty’s hopes to run high, when the Lord 

Protector shook his head and said: 

255 


17 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“It is true it is most wonderful — but it is no more than 
our lord the king likewise can do. ” This remark, and this 
reference to himself as still the king, saddened Tom Canty, 
and he felt his hopes crumbling from under him. “These 
are not proofs,” added the Protector. 

The tide was turning very fast now, very fast, indeed — 
but in the wrong direction; it was leaving poor Tom Canty 
stranded on the throne, and sweeping the other out to sea. 
The Lord Protector communed with himself — shook his 
head — the thought forced itself upon him, “It is perilous to 
the state and to us all, to entertain so fateful a riddle as 
this; it could divide the nation and undermine the throne.” 
He turned and said: 

“Sir Thomas, arrest this — No, hold!” His face 
lighted, and he confronted the ragged candidate with this 
question : 

“Where lieth the Great Seul? Answer me this truly, 
and the riddle is unriddled; for only he that was Prince of 
Wales can so answer! On so trivial a thing hang a throne 
and a dynasty!” 

It was a lucky thought, a happy thought. That it was 
so considered by the great officials was manifested by the 
silent applause that shot from eye to eye around their circle 
in the form of bright approving glances. Yes, none but 
the true prince could dissolve the stubborn mystery of the 
vanished Great Seal — this forlorn little impostor had been 
taught his lesson well, but here his teachings must fail, for 
his teacher himself could not answer that question — ah, 
256 


The Prince and the Pauper 

very good, very good indeed: now we shall be rid of this 
troublesome and perilous business in short order! And 
so they nodded invisibly and smiled inwardly with satis- 
faction, and looked to see this foolish lad stricken with a 
palsy of guilty confusion. How surprised they were, then, 
to see nothing of the sort happen — how they marveled to 
hear him answer up promptly, in a confident and untroubled 
voice, and say: 

‘‘There is naught in this riddle that is difficult. ” Then, 
without so much as a by-your-leave to anybody, he turned 
and gave this command, with the easy manner of one 
accustomed to doing such things: “My Lord St. John, go 
you to my private cabinet in the palace — for none knoweth 
the place better than you — and, close down to the fioor, in 
the left corner remotest from the door that opens from the 
antechamber, you shall find in the wall a brazen nail-head; 
press upon it and a little jewel-closet will fly open which not 
even you do know of — no, nor any soul else in all the world 
but me and the trusty artisan that did contrive it for me. 
The first thing that falleth under your eye will be the Great 
Seal — fetch it hither.” 

All the company wondered at this speech, and wondered 
still more to see the little mendicant pick out this peer 
without hesitancy or apparent fear of mistake, and call him 
by name with such a placidly convincing air of having known 
him all his life. The peer was almost surprised into obey- 
ing. He even made a movement as if to go, but quickly 
recovered his tranquil attitude and confessed his blunder 

257 


The Prince and the Pauper 

with a blush. Tom Canty turned upon him and said, 
sharply: 

“Why dost thou hesitate.^ Hast not heard the king’s 
command.^ Go!” 

The Lord St. John made a deep obeisance — and it was 
observed that it was a significantly cautious and non- 
committal one, it not being delivered at either of the kings 
but at the neutral ground about half-way between the two — 
and took his leave. 

Now began a movement of the gorgeous particles of that 
ofiicial group which was slow, scarcely perceptible, and yet 
steady and persistent — a movement such as is observed in 
a kaleidoscope that is turned slowly, whereby the compo- 
nents of one splendid cluster fall away and join themselves 
to another — a movement which, little by little, in the present 
case, dissolved the glittering crowd that stood about Tom 
Canty and clustered it together again in the neighborhood 
of the new-comer. Tom Canty stood almost alone. Now 
ensued a brief season of deep suspense and waiting — during 
which even the few faint-hearts still remaining near Tom 
Canty gradually scraped together courage enough to glide, 
one by one, over to the majority. So at last Tom Canty, 
in his royal robes and jewels, stood wholly alone and isolated 
from the world, a conspicuous figure, occupying an eloquent 
vacancy. 

Now the Lord St. John was seen returning. As he ad- 
vanced up the mid-aisle the interest was so intense that the 
low murmur of conversation in the great assemblage died 
258 


The Prince and the Pauper 

out and was succeeded by a profound hush, a breathless 
stillness, through which his footfalls pulsed with a dull and 
distant sound. Every eye was fastened upon him as he 
moved along. He reached the platform, paused a moment, 
then moved toward Tom Canty with a deep obeisance, and 
said: 

‘‘Sire, the Seal is not there!” 

A mob does not melt away from the presence of a plague- 
patient with more haste than the band of pallid and terrified 
courtiers melted away from the presence of the shabby little 
claimant of the Crown. In a moment he stood all alone, 
without friend or supporter, a target upon which was con- 
centrated a bitter fire of scornful and angry looks. The 
Lord Protector called out fiercely: 

“Cast the beggar into the street, and scourge him 
through the town — the paltry knave is worth no more 
consideration!” 

Officers of the guard sprang forward to obey, but Tom 
Canty waved them off and said: 

“Back! Whoso touches him perils his life!” 

The Lord Protector was perplexed in the last degree. 
He said to the Lord St. John: 

“Searched you well.^ — but it boots not to ask that. 
It doth seem passing strange. Little things, trifles, slip 
out of one’s ken, and ones does not think it matter for sur- 
prise; but how a so bulky thing as the Seal of England can 
vanish away and no man be able to get track of it again 
a massy golden disk — ” 


259 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Tom Canty, with beaming eyes, sprang forward and 
shouted : 

‘‘Hold, that is enough! Was it round? — and thick? — 
and had it letters and devices graved upon it? — Yes? Oh, 
now I know what this Great Seal is that there’s been such 
worry and pother about! An ye had described it to me, 
ye could have had it three weeks ago. Right well I know 
where it lies; but it was not I that put it there — first.” 

“Who, then, my liege?” asked the Lord Protector. 

“He that stands there — the rightful king of England. 
And he shall tell you himself where it lies — then you will 
believe he knew it of his own knowledge. Bethink thee, 
my king — spur thy memory — it was the last, the very last 
thing thou didst that day before thou didst rush forth from 
the palace, clothed in my rags, to punish the soldier that 
insulted me. ” 

A silence ensued, undisturbed by a movement or a 
whisper, and all eyes were fixed upon the new-comer, who 
stood, with bent head and corrugated brow, groping in his 
memory among a thronging multitude of valueless recol- 
lections for one single little elusive fact, which found, 
would seat him upon a throne — unfound, would leave him 
as he was, for good and all — a pauper and an outcast. 
Moment after moment passed — the moments built them- 
selves into minutes — still the boy struggled silently on, and 
gave no sign. But at last he heaved a sigh, shook his head 
slowly, and said, with a trembling lip and in a despondent 
voice : 

260 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“I call the scene back— all of it— but the Seal hath no 
place in it. He paused, then looked up, and said with 
gentle dignity, “My lords and gentlemen, if ye will rob 
your rightful sovereign of his own for lack of this evidence 
which he is not able to furnish, I may not stay ye, being 
powerless. But — ” 

‘‘O folly, O madness, my king!” cried Tom Canty, in a 
panic, ‘‘wait! — think! Do not give up! — the cause is not 
lost! Nor shall be, neither! List to what I say — follow 
every word — I am going to bring that morning back again, 
every hap just as it happened. We talked — I told you of 
my sisters. Nan and Bet — ah, yes, you remember that; 
and about mine old grandam — and the rough games of the 
lads of Offal Court — ^yes, you remember these things also; 
very well, follow me still, you shall recall everything. 
You gave me food and drink, and did with princely courtesy 
send away the servants, so that my low breeding might not 
shame me before them — ah, yes, this also you remember.” 

As Tom checked off his details, and the other boy nodded 
his head in recognition, of them the great audience and the 
oflScials stared in puzzled wonderment; the tale sounded 
like true history, yet how could this impossible conjunction 
between a prince and a beggar boy have come about? 
Never was a company of people so perplexed, so interested, 
and so stupefied, before. 

‘‘For a jest, my prince, we did exchange garments. 
Then we stood before a mirror; and so alike were we that 
both said it seemed as if there had been no change made — 
261 


The Prince and the Pauper 

yes, you remember that. Then you noticed that the soldier 
had hurt my hand — look! here it is, I cannot yet even write 
with it, the fingers are so stiff. At this your highness 
sprang up, vowing vengeance upon the soldier, and ran 
toward the door — you passed a table — that thing you call 
the Seal lay on that table — you snatched it up and looked 
eagerly about, as if for a place to hide it — ^your eye caught 
sight of — ” 

‘‘There, ’tis sufficient! — and the dear God be thanked!” 
exclaimed the ragged claimant, in a mighty excitement. 
“Go, my good St. John — in an arm-piece of the Milanese 
armor that hangs on the wall, thou’lt find the Seal!” 

“Right, my king! right!” cried Tom Canty; the 

scepter of England is thine own; and it were better for him 
that would dispute it that he had been born dumb! Go, 
my Lord St. John, give thy feet wings!” 

The whole assemblage was on its feet now, and well-nigh 
out of its mind with uneasiness, apprehension, and consum- 
ing excitement. On the floor and on the platform a deaf- 
ening buzz of frantic conversation burst forth, and for some 
time nobody knew anything or heard anything or was 
interested in anything but what his neighbor was shouting 
into his ear, or he was shouting into his neighbor’s ear. 
Time — nobody knew how much of it — swept by unheeded 
and unnoted. At last a sudden hush fell upon the house, 
and in the same moment St. John appeared upon the plat- 
form and held the Great Seal aloft in his hand. Then such 
a shout went up ! 


262 


The Prince and the Pauper 

“Long live the true king!” 

For five minutes the air quaked with shouts and the 
crash of musical instruments, and was white with a storm 
of waving handkerchiefs; and through it all a ragged lad, 
the most conspicuous figure in England, stood, flushed and 
happy and proud, in the center of the spacious platform, 
with the great vassals of the kingdom kneeling around him. 

Then all rose, and Tom Canty cried out: 

“Now, O my king, take these regal garments back, and 
give poor Tom, thy servant, his shreds and remnants 
again. ” 

The Lord Protector spoke up: 

“Let the small varlet be stripped and flung into the 
Tower. ” 

But the new king, the true king, said: 

“I will not have it so. But for him I had not got my 
crown again — none shall lay a hand upon him to harm him. 
And as for thee, my good uncle, my Lord Protector, this 
conduct of thine is not grateful toward this poor lad, for 
I hear he hath made thee a duke”— the Protector blushed— 
“yet he was not a king; wherefore, what is thy fine title 
worth now? To-morrow you shall sue to me, thvough hiTti, 
for its confirmation, else no duke, but a simple earl, shalt 
thou remain. ” 

Under this rebuke, his grace the Duke of Somerset 
retired a little from the front for the moment. The king 
turned to Tom, and said, kindly: 

“My poor boy, how was it that you could remember 

m 


The Prince and the Pauper 

where I hid the Seal when I could^ not [remember it 
myself? ” 

‘‘Ah, my king, that was easy, since I usea it divers 
days. ” 

“Used it — yet could not explain where it was?’’ 

“I did not know it was that they wanted. They did not 
describe it, your majesty.” 

“Then how used you it?” 

The red blood began to steal up into Tom’s cheeks, and 
he dropped his eyes and was silent. 

“Speak up, good lad, and fear nothing,” said the king. 
“How used you the Great Seal of England?” 

Tom stammered a moment, in a pathetic confusion, then 
got it out: 

“To crack nuts with!” 

Poor child, the avalanche of laughter that greeted this 
nearly swept him off his feet. But if a doubt remained in 
any mind that Tom Canty was not the king of England and 
familiar with the august appurtenances of royalty, this 
reply disposed of it utterly. 

Meantime the sumptuous robe of state had been re- 
moved from Tom’s shoulders to the king’s, whose rags were 
effectually hidden from sight under it. Then the corona- 
tion ceremonies were resumed; the true king was anointed 
and the crown set upon his head, whilst cannon thundered 
the news to the city, and all London seemed to rock with 
applause. 


XXXIII 


EDWARD AS KING 

T\^ILES HENDON was picturesque enough before he 
got into the riot on London Bridge — ^he was more so 
when he got out of it. He had but little money when he 
got in, none at all when he got out. The pickpockets had 
stripped him of his last farthing. 

But no matter, so he found his boy. Being a soldier, 
he did not go at his task in a random way, but set to work, 
first of all, to arrange his campaign. 

WTiat would the boy naturally do.^ Where would he 
naturally go.^ Well — argued Miles — he would naturally 
go to his former haunts, for that is the instinct of unsound 
minds, when homeless and forsaken, as well as of sound ones. 
Whereabouts were his former haunts? His rags, taken 
together with the low villain who seemed to know him and 
who even claimed to be his father, indicated that his home 
was in one or another of the poorest and meanest districts 
of London. Would the search for him be difficult or long? 
No, it was likely to be easy and brief. He would not hunt 
for the boy, he would hunt for a crowd; in the center of a big 
crowd or a little one, sooner or later, he should find his poor 
265 


The Prince and the Pauper 

little friend, sure; and the mangy mob would be entertaining 
itself with pestering and aggravating the boy, who would be 
proclaiming himself king, as usual. Then Miles Hendon 
would cripple some of those people, and carry off his little 
ward, and comfort and cheer him with loving words, and 
the two would never be separated any more. 

So Miles started on his quest. Hour after hour he 
tramped through back alleys and squalid streets, seeking 
groups and crowds, and finding no end of them, but never 
any sign of the boy. This greatly surprised him, but did 
not discourage him. To his notion, there was nothing the 
matter with his plan of campaign; the only miscalculation 
about it was that the campaign was becoming a lengthy one, 
whereas he had expected it to be short. 

When daylight arrived at last, he had made many a 
mile, and canvassed many a crowd, but the only result 
was that he was tolerably tired, rather hungry, and very 
sleepy. He wanted some breakfast, but there was no way 
to get it. To beg for it did not occur to him; as to pawning 
his sword, he would as soon have thought of parting with 
his honor; he could spare some of his clothes — yes, but one 
could as easily find a customer for a disease as for such 
clothes. 

At noon he was still tramping — among the rabble which 
followed after the royal procession now; for he argued that 
this regal display would attract his little lunatic powerfully. 
He followed the pageant through all its devious windings 
about London, and all the way to Westminster and the 
266 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Abbey. He drifted here and there among the multitudes 
that were massed in the vicinity for a weary long time, 
baffled and perplexed, and finally wandered off thinking, 
and trying to contrive some way to better his plan of cam- 
paign. By and by, when he came to himself out of his 
musings, he discovered that the town was far behind him 
and that the day was growing old. He was near the river, 
and in the country; it was a region of fine rural seats — not 
the sort of district to welcome clothes like his. 

It was not at all cold; so he stretched himself on the 
ground in the lee of a hedge to rest and think. Drowsiness 
presently began to settle upon his senses ; the faint and far- 
off boom of cannon was wafted to his ear, and he said to 
himself, ‘‘The new king is crowned,” and straightway fell 
asleep. He had not slept or rested, before, for more than 
thirty hours. He did not wake again until near the middle 
of the next morning. 

He got up, lame, stiff, and half famished, washed himself 
in the river, stayed his stomach with a pint or two of water, 
and trudged off toward Westminster, grumbling at himself 
for having wasted so much time. Hunger helped him to a 
new plan now; he would try to get speech with old Sir 
Humphrey Marlow and borrow a few marks, and — but that 
was enough of a plan for the present; it would be time enough 
to enlarge it when this first stage should be accomplished. 

Toward eleven o’clock he approached the palace; and 
although a host of showy people were about him, moving in 
the same direction, he was not inconspicuous — his costume 

267 


The Prince and the Pauper 

took care of that. He watched these people’s faces nar- 
rowly, hoping to find a charitable one whose possessor might 
be willing to carry his name to the old lieutenant — as to 
trying to get into the palace himself, that was simply out of 
the question. 

Presently our whipping-boy passed him, then wheeled 
about and scanned his figure well, saying to himself, ‘"An 
that is not the very vagabond his majesty is in such a worry 
about, then am I an ass — though belike I was that before. 
He answereth the description to a rag — that God should 
make two such, would be to cheapen miracles, by wasteful 
repetition. I would I could contrive an excuse to speak 
with him.” 

Miles Hendon saved him the trouble; for he turned 
about, then, as a man generally will when somebody mes- 
merizes him by gazing hard at him from behind ; and observ- 
ing a strong interest in the boy’s eyes, he stepped toward 
him and said: 

“You have just come out from the palace; do you belong 
there.^'” 

“Yes, your worship. ” 

“Know you Sir Humphrey Marlow.^” 

The boy started, and said to himself, “Lord! mine old 
departed father!” Then he answered, aloud, “Right 
well, your worship. ” 

“Good — is he within?” 

“Yes,” said the boy; and added, to himself, “within 
his grave.” 


268 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Might I crave your favor to carry my name to him, 
and say I beg to say a word in his ear? ” 

“I will despatch the business right willingly, fair sir.” 

‘‘Then say Miles Hendon, son of Sir Richard, is here 
without — I shall be greatly bounden to you, my good lad.” 

The boy looked disappointed — “the king did not name 
him so,” he said to himself — “but it mattereth not, this is 
his twin brother, and can give his majesty news of t’other 
Sir-Odds-and-Ends, I warrant.” So he said to Miles, 
“Step in there a moment, good sir, and wait till I bring 
you word. ” 

Hendon retired to the place indicated — it was a recess 
sunk in the palace wall, with a stone bench in it — a shelter 
for sentinels in bad weather. He had hardly seated himself 
when some halberdiers, in charge of an officer, passed by. 
The officer saw him, halted his men, and commanded 
Hendon to come forth. He obeyed, and was promptly 
arrested as a suspicious character prowling within the pre- 
cincts of the palace. Things began to look ugly. Poor 
Miles was going to explain, but the officer roughly silenced 
him, and ordered his men to disarm him and search him. 

“God of his mercy grant that they find somewhat,” said 
poor Miles; “I have searched enow, and failed, yet is my 
need greater than theirs. ” 

Nothing was found but a document. The officer tore it 
open, and Hendon smiled when he recognized the “pot- 
hooks” made by his lost little friend that black day at 
Hendon Hall. The officer’s face grew dark as he read the 


The Prince and the Pauper 

English paragraph, and Miles blenched to the opposite 
color as he listened. 

‘‘Another new claimant of the crown!’’ cried the officer. 
“Verily they breed like rabbits to-day. Seize the rascal, 
men, and see ye keep him fast while I convey this precious 
paper within and send it to the king. ” 

He hurried away, leaving the prisoner in the grip of the 
halberdiers. 

“Now is my evil luck ended at last,” muttered Hendon, 
“for I shall dangle at a rope’s end for a certainty, by reason 
of that bit of writing. And what will become of my poor 
lad! — ah, only the good God knoweth.” 

By and by he saw the ofiicer coming again, in a great 
hurry; so he plucked his courage together, purposing to 
meet his trouble as became a man. The officer ordered the 
men to loose the prisoner and return his sword to him; 
then bowed respectfully, and said: 

“Please you, sir, to follow me.” 

Hendon followed, saying to himself, “An I were not 
traveling to death and judgment, and so must needs econ- 
omize in sin, I would throttle this knave for his mock 
courtesy.” 

The two traversed a populous court, and arrived at the 
grand entrance of the palace, where the officer, with another 
bow, delivered Hendon into the hands of a gorgeous official, 
who received him with profound respect and led him for- 
ward through a great hall, lined on both sides with rows of 
splendid flunldes (who made reverential obeisance as the 
^70 


The Prince and the Pauper 

two passed along, but fell into death-throes of silent laughter 
at our stately scarecrow the moment his back was turned), 
and up a broad staircase, among flocks of flne folk, and 
finally conducted him to a vast room, clove a passage for 
him through the assembled nobility of England, then made 
a bow, reminded him to take his hat off, and left him stand- 
ing in the middle of the room, a mark for all eyes, for plenty 
of indignant frowns, and for a suflBciency of amused and 
derisive smiles. 

Miles Hendon was entirely bewildered. There sat the 
young king, under a canopy of state, five steps away, with 
his head bent down and aside, speaking with a sort of human 
bird-of -paradise — a duke, maybe; Hendon observed to him- 
self that it was hard enough to be sentenced to death in the 
full vigor of life, without having this peculiarly public 
humiliation added. He wished the king would hurry about 
it — some of the gaudy people near by were becoming pretty 
offensive. At this moment the king raised his head slightly 
and Hendon caught a good view of his face. The sight 
nearly took his breath aw^ay 1 He stood gazing at the fair 
young face like one transfixed; then presently ejaculated: 

‘‘Lo, the lord of the Kingdom of Dreams and Shadows 
on his throne!” 

He muttered some broken sentences, still gazing and 
marveling; then turned his eyes around and about, scanning 
the gorgeous throng and the splendid saloon, murmuring, 
‘‘But these are real— vevilj these are r^aZ— surely it is not a 
dream. ” 

i8 


271 


The Prince and the Pauper 

He stared at the king again — and thought, ‘"Is it a 
dream? ... or is he the veritable sovereign of England, 
and not the friendless poor Tom o’ Bedlam I took him 
for — who shall solve me this riddle?” 

A sudden idea flashed in his eye, and he strode to the 
wall, gathered up a chair, brought it back, planted in on the 
floor, and sat down in it ! 

A buzz of indignation broke out, a rough hand was laid 
upon him, and a voice exclaimed: 

‘‘Up, thou mannerless clown! — wouldst sit in the 
presence of the king?” 

The disturbance attracted his majesty’s attention, who 
stretched forth his hand and cried out: 

“Touch him not, it is his right!” 

The throng fell back, stupefied. The king went on: 

“Learn ye all, ladies, lords and gentlemen, that this is 
my trusty and well-beloved servant. Miles Hendon, who 
interposed his good sword and saved his prince from bodily 
harm and possible death — and for this he is a knight, by the 
king’s voice. Also learn, that for a higher service, in that 
he saved his sovereign stripes and shame, taking these upon 
himself, he is a peer of England, Earl of Kent, and shall have 
gold and lands meet for the dignity. More — the privilege 
which he hath just exercised is his by royal grant; for we 
have ordained that the chiefs of his line shall have and hold 
the right to sit in the presence of the majesty of England 
henceforth, age after age, so long as the crown shall endure. 
Molest him not. ” 




The Prince and the Pauper 

Two persons, who, through delay, had only arrived from 
the country during this morning, and had now been in this 
room only five minutes, stood listening to these words and 
looking at the king, then at the scarecrow, then at the king 
again, in a sort of torpid bewilderment. These were Sir 
Hugh and the Lady Edith. But the new earl did not see 
them. He was still staring at the monarch, in a dazed 
way, and muttering: 

“Oh, body o’ me! This my pauper! This my lunatic! 
This is he whom I would show what grandeur was, in my 
house of seventy rooms and seven and twenty servants! 
This is he who had never known aught but rags for raiment, 
kicks for comfort, and offal for diet! This is he whom I 
adopted and would make respectable! Would God I had 
a bag to hide my head in!” 

Then his manners suddenly came back to him, and he 
dropped upon his knees, with his hands between the king’s, 
and swore allegiance and did homage for his lands and 
titles. Then he rose and stood respectfully aside, a mark 
still for all eyes — and much envy, too. 

Now the king discovered Sir Hugh, and spoke out, with 
wrathful voice and kindling eye: 

“Strip this robber of his false show and stolen estates, 
and put him under lock and key till I have need of him. ” 

The late Sir Hugh was led away. 

There was a stir at the other end of the room now; 
the assemblage fell apart, and Tom Canty, quaintly but 
richly clothed, marched down, between these living walls, 
27S 


The Prince and the Pauper 

preceded by an usher. He knelt before the king, who 
said: 

“I have learned the story of these past few weeks, and 
am well pleased with thee. Thou hast governed the realm 
with right royal gentleness and mercy. Thou hast found 
thy mother and thy sisters again Good; they shall be 
cared for — and thy father shall hang, if thou desire it and 
the law consent. Know, all ye that hear my voice, that 
from this day, they that abide in the shelter of Christ’s 
Hospital and share the king’s bounty, shall have their 
minds and hearts fed, as well as their baser parts; and 
this boy shall dwell there, and hold the chief place in 
its honorable body of governors, during life. And for 
that he hath been a king, it is meet that other than 
common observance shall be his due; wherefore, note 
this his dress of state, for by it he shall be known, and 
none shall copy it; and wheresoever he shall come, it shall 
remind the people that he hath been royal, in his time, 
and none shall deny him his due of reverence or fail to 
give him salutation. He hath the throne’s protection, he 
hath the crown’s support, he shall be known and called 
by the honorable title of the King’s Ward.” 

The proud and happy Tom Canty rose and kissed the 
king’s hand, and was conducted from the presence. He did 
not waste any time, but flew to his mother, to tell her and 
Nan and Bet all about it and get them to help him enjoy 
the great news.^ 

^ See Notes to Chapter 33, at end of the volume. 

274 


CONCLUSION 


JUSTICE AND RETRIBUTION 

W HEN the mysteries were all cleared up, it came out, by 
confession of Hugh Hendon, that his wife had repu- 
diated Miles by his command that day at Hendon Hall — a 
command assisted and supported by the perfectly trust- 
worthy promise that if she did not deny that he was Miles 
Hendon, and stand firmly to it, he would have her life; 
whereupon she said take it, she did not value it — and she 
would not repudiate Miles; then the husband said he would 
spare her life, but have Miles assassinated! This was a 
different matter; so she gave her word and kept it. 

Hugh was not prosecuted for his threats or for stealing 
his brother’s estates and title, because the wife and brother 
would not testify against him — and the former would not 
have been allowed to do it, even if she had wanted to. 
Hugh deserted his wife and went over to the Continent, 
where he presently died; and by and by the Earl of Kent 
married his relict. There were grand times and rejoicings 
at Hendon village when the couple paid their first visit 
to the Hall. 

Tom Canty’s father was never heard of again. 

275 


The Prince and the Pauper 

The king sought out the farmer who had been branded 
and sold as a slave, and reclaimed him from his evil life 
with the Ruffler’s gang, and put him in the way of a com- 
fortable livelihood. 

He also took that old lawyer out of prison and remitted 
his fine. He provided good homes for the daughters of the 
two Baptist women whom he saw burned at the stake, and 
roundly punished the official who laid the undeserved stripes 
upon Miles Hendon’s back. 

He saved from the gallows the boy who had captured 
the stray falcon, and also the woman who had stolen a 
remnant of cloth from a weaver; but he was too late to save 
the man who had been convicted of killing a deer in the 
royal forest. 

He showed favor to the justice who had pitied him when 
he was supposed to have stolen a pig, and he had the gratifi- 
cation of seeing him grow in the public esteem and become a 
great and honored man. 

As long as the king lived he was fond of telling the story 
of his adventures, all through, from the hour that the senti- 
nel cuffed him away from the palace gate till the final mid- 
night when he deftly mixed himself into a gang of hurrying 
workmen and so slipped into the Abbey and climbed up and 
hid himself in the Confessor’s tomb, and then slept so long, 
next day, that he came within one of missing the Coronation 
altogether. He said that the frequent rehearsing of the 
precious lesson kept him strong in his purpose to make its 
teachings yield benefits to his people; and so, while his life 
276 


The Prince and the Pauper 

was spared he should continue to tell the story, and thus 
keep its sorrowful spectacles fresh in his memory and the 
springs of pity replenished in his heart. 

Miles Hendon and Tom Canty were favorites of the 
king, all through his brief reign, and his sincere mourners 
when he died. The good Earl of Kent had too much good 
sense to abuse his peculiar privilege; but he exercised it 
twice after the instance we have seen of it before he was 
called from the world; once at the accession of Queen Mary, 
and once at the accession of Queen Elizabeth. A descend- 
ant df his exercised it at the accession of James I. Before 
this one’s son chose to use the privilege, near a quarter of a 
century had elapsed, and the ‘‘privilege of the Kents” 
had faded out of most people’s memories; so, when the Kent 
of that day appeared before Charles I. and his court and sat 
down in the sovereign’s presence to assert and perpetuate the 
right of his house, there was a fine stir, indeed! But the 
matter was soon explained and the right confirmed. The 
last earl of the line fell in the wars of the Commonwealth 
fighting for the king, and the odd privilege ended with him. 

Tom Canty lived to be a very old man, a handsome, 
white-haired old fellow, of grave and benignant aspect. As 
long as he lasted he was honored; and he was also reverenced, 
for his striking and peculiar costume kept the people re- 
minded that “in his time he had been royal”; so, wherever 
he appeared the crowd fell apart, making way for him, and 
whispering, one to another, “Doff thy hat, it is the King’s 
Ward!” — and so they saluted, and got his kindly smile in 

277 


The Prince and the Pauper 

return — and they valued it, too, for his was an honorable 
history. 

Yes, King Edward VI. lived only a few years, poor boy, 
but he lived them worthily. More than once, when some 
great dignitary, some gilded vassal of the crown, made argu- 
ment against his leniency, and urged that some law which 
he was bent upon amending was gentle enough for its pur- 
pose, and wrought no suffering or oppression which any one 
need mightily mind, the young king turned the mournful 
eloquence of his great compassionate eyes upon him and 
answered : 

‘‘What dost thou know of suffering and oppression.^ I 
and my people know, but not thou. ” 

The reign of Edward VI. was a singularly merciful one 
for those harsh times. Now that we are taking leave of 
him let us try to keep this in our minds, to his credit. 


Notes 


Note 1 — Page 21 
Chrises Hospital Costume 

It is most reasonable to regard the dress as copied from the costume 
of the citizens of London of that period, when long blue coats were the 
common habit of apprentices and serving-men, and yellow stockings 
were generally worn; the coat fits closely to the body, but has loose 
sleeves, and beneath is worn a sleeveless yellow undercoat; around the 
waist is a red leathern girdle; a clerical band around the neck, and a 
small fiat black cap, about the size of a saucer, completes the costume. — 
Timbs^s “ Curiosities of London. ” 


Note 2 — Page 23 

It appears that Christ’s Hospital was not originally founded as a 
school; its object was to rescue children from the streets, to shelter, feed, 
clothe them, etc. — Timbs's ''Curiosities of London."' 


Note 3 — Page 33 

The Duke of Norfolk's Condemnation Commanded 

The King was now approaching fast toward his end; and fearing lest 
Norfolk should escape him, he sent a message to the Commons, by which 
he desired them to hasten the bill, on pretense that Norfolk enjoyed the 
dignity of earl marshal, and it was necessary to appoint another, who 

279 


The Prince and the Pauper 

might oflBciate at the ensuing ceremony of installing his son, Prince of 
Wales . — Humey vol. hi, p. 307. 

Note 4 — Page 48 

It was not till the end of this reign [Henry VIII.] that any salads, 
carrots, turnips, or other edible roots were produced in England. The 
little of these vegetables that was used was formerly imported from 
Holland and Flanders. Queen Catherine, when she wanted a salad, 
was obliged to despatch a messenger thither on purpose. — Hunters 
History of England, vol. hi, p. 314. 

Note 5 — Page 54 
Attainder of Norfolk 

The house of peers, without examining the prisoner, without trial 
or evidence, passed a bill of attainder against him and sent it down to 
the commons. . . . The obsequious commons obeyed his [the King’s] 
directions; and the King, having affixed the royal assent to the bill by 
commissioners, issued orders for the executionof Norfolk on the morn- 
ing of the 29th of January [the next day]. — Hume^s England, vol. hi, 
p. 306. 

Note 6 — Page 69 
The Loving-Cup 

The loving-cup, and the peculiar ceremonies observed in drinking 
from it, are older than English history. It is thought that both are 
Danish importations. As far back as knowledge goes, the loving-cup 
has always been drunk at English banquets. Tradition explains the 
ceremonies in this way : in the rude ancient times it was deemed a wise 
precaution to have both hands of both drinkers employed, lest while the 
pledger pledged his love and fidelity to the pledgee the pledgee take 
that opportunity to slip a dirk into him ! 

Note 7 — Page 77 

The Duke of NorfoWs Narrow Escape 

Had Henry VIII. survived a few hours longer, his order for the 
duke’s execution would have been carried into effect. “But news being 

280 


The Prince and the Pauper 

carried to the Tower that the King himself had expired that night, the 
lieutenant deferred obeying the warrant; and it was not thought advis- 
able by the council to begin a new reign by the death of the greatest 
nobleman in the Kingdom, who had been condemned by a sentence so 
unjust and tyrannical. ” — Huine^s England, vol. hi, p. 307. 

Note 8 — Page 110 

The Whipping-Boy 

James I. and Charles II. had whipping-boys when they were little 
fellows, to take their punishment for them when they fell short in their 
lessons; so I have ventured to furnish my small prince with one, for my 
own purposes. 

Notes to Chapter XV — Page 129 
Character of Hertford 

The young king discovered an extreme attachment to his uncle, who 
was, in the main, a man of moderation and probity. — Hvme*s England, 
vol. hi, p. 324. 

But if he [the Protector] gave offense by assuming too much state, he 
deserves great praise on account of the laws passed this session, by 
which the rigor of former statutes was much mitigated, and some secu- 
rity given to the freedom of the constitution. All laws were repealed 
which extended the crime of treason beyond the statute of the twenty- 
fifth of Edward III.; all laws enacted during the late reign extending 
the crime of felony; all the former laws against Lollardy or heresy, to- 
gether with the statute of the Six Articles. None were to be accused for 
words, but within a month after they were spoken. By these repeals 
several of the most rigorous laws that ever had passed in England were 
annulled; and some dawn, both of civil and religious liberty, began to 
appear to the people. A repeal also passed of that law, the destruction 
of all laws, by which the king’s proclamation was made of equal force 
with a statute. — lUd., vol. iii, p. 339. 

Boiling to Death 

In the reign of Henry VIII., poisoners were, by act of parliament, 
condemned to be hcnled to death. This act was repealed in the following 
reign. 


281 


The Prince and the Pauper 

In Germany, even in the 17th century, this horrible punishment 
was inflicted on coiners and counterfeiters. Taylor, the Water Poet, 
describes an execution he witnessed in Hamburg, in 1616. The judg- 
ment pronounced against a coiner of false money was that he should 
“be boiled to death in oil: not thrown into the vessel at once, but with a 
pulley or rope to be hanged under the armpits, and then let down into 
the oil by degrees; flrst the feet, and next the legs, and so to boil his 
flesh from his bones alive. ” — Dr. J. Hammond TrumbulV s “ Blue Laws, 
True and' False/' p. 13. 

The Famous Stocking Case 

A WOMAN and her daughter, nine years old, were hanged in Hunting- 
don for selling their souls to the devil, and raising a storm by pulling 
off their stockings! — Ibid., p. 20. 

Note 10 — Page 144 
Enslaving 

So young a king, and so ignorant a peasant were likely to make mis- 
takes — and this is an instance in point. This peasant was suffering 
from this law by anticipation: the king was venting his indignation 
against a law which was not yet in existence: for this hideous statute 
was to have birth in this little king’s own reign. However, we know, 
from the humanity of his character, that it could never have been 
suggested by him. 

Notes to Chapter XXIH — Page 194 
Death for Trifling Larcenies 

When Connecticut and New Haven were framing their first codes, 
larceny above the value of twelve pence was a capital crime in England, 
as it had been since the time of Henry I. — Dr. J. Hammond Trumbull's 
^^Blue Laws, True and False, " p. 17. 

The curious old book called The English Rogue makes the limit 
thirteen pence ha’penny; death being the portion of any who steal a 
thing “above the value of thirteen pence ha’penny.” 

282 


The Prince and the Pauper 

Notes to Chapter XXVII — Page 227 

descriptions of larceny, the law expressly took away 
the benefat of clergy; to steal a horse, or a hawk, or woolen cloth from the 
weaver, was a hanging matter. So it was to kill a deer from the king’s 
forest, or to export sheep from the Kingdom.— Dr. J. Hammond Trum- 
bull s "'Blue Laws, True and False,'' p. 13 . 

William Prynne, a learned barrister, was sentenced — [long after 
Edward the Sixth s time] to lose both his ears in the pillory; to degrada- 
tion from the bar; a fine of £3,000, and imprisonment for life. Three 
years afterward, he gave new offense to Laud, by publishing a phamphlet 
against the hierarchy. He was again prosecuted, and was sentenced 
to lose what remained of his ears; to pay a fine of £5,000; to be branded 
on both his cheeks with the letters S. L. (for Seditious Libeler), and to 
remain in prison for life. The severity of this sentence was equaled by 
the savage rigor of its execution. — Ibid,, p. 12. 

Notes to Chapter XXXIII — Page 274 

Christ’s Hospital or Blue Coat School, “the Noblest Insti- 
tution in the World. ” 

The ground on which the Priory of the Grey Friars stood was con- 
ferred by Henry the Eighth on the Corporation of London [who caused 
the institution there of a home for poor boys and girls]. Subsequently, 
Edward the Sixth caused the old Priory to be properly repaired, and 
founded within it that noble establishment called the Blue Coat School, 
or Christ’s Hospital, for the education and maintenance of orphans and 
the children of indigent persons. . . . Edward would not let him [Bishop 
Ridley] depart till the letter was written [to the Lord Mayor], and then 
charged him to deliver it himself, and signify his special request and com- 
mandment that no time might be lost in proposing what was convenient, 
and apprising him of the proceedings. The work was zealously under- 
taken, Ridley himself engaging in it; and the result was, the founding 
of Christ’s Hospital for the Education of Poor Children. [The king 
endowed several other charities at the same time.] “Lord God,” said 
he, “ I yield thee most hearty thanks that thou hast given me life thus 
long, to finish this work to the glory of thy name ! ” That innocent and 
most exemplary life was drawing rapidly to its close, and in a few days 
he rendered up his spirit to his Creator, praying God to defend the realm 

283 


The Prince and the Pauper 

from Papistry. — J. Heneage Jesse's London, its Celebrated Characters 
and Places/' 

In the Great Hall hangs a large picture of King Edward VI. seated 
on his throne, in a scarlet and ermined robe, holding the scepter in his 
left hand, presenting with the other the Chapter to the kneeling Lord 
Mayor. By his side stands the Chancellor, holding the seals, and next 
to him are other officers of state. Bishop Ridley kneels before him with 
uplifted hands, as if supplicating a blessing on the event; while the Aider- 
men, etc., with the Lord Mayor, kneel on both sides, occupying the 
middle ground of the picture; and lastly, in front, are a double row of 
boys on one side, and girls on the other, from the master and matron 
down to the boy and girl who have stepped forward from their respective 
rows, and kneel with raised hands before the king. — Timbs's “ Curiosities 
of London," p. 98. 

Christ’s Hospital, by ancient custom, possesses the privilege of 
addressing the Sovereign on the occasion of his or her coming into the 
City to partake of the hospitality of the Corporation of London. — Ibid. 

The Dining-Hall, with its lobby and organ-gallery, occupies the 
entire story, which is 187 feet long, 51 feet wide, and 47 feet high; it is 
lit by nine large windows, filled with stained glass on the south side; 
that is, next to Westminster Hall, the noblest room in the metropolis. 
Here the boys, now about 800 in number, dine; and here are held the 
“ Suppings in Public, ” to which visitors are admitted by tickets, issued 
by the Treasurer and by the Governors of Christ’s Hospital. The 
tables are laid with cheese in wooden bowls; beer in wooden piggins, 
poured from leathern jacks; and bread brought in large baskets. The 
official company enter; the Lord Mayor, or President, takes his seat in a 
state chair, made of oak from St. Catherine’s Church by the Tower; 
a hymn is sung, accompanied by the organ; a “Grecian,” or head boy, 
reads the prayers from the pulpit, silence being enforced by three drops 
of a wooden hammer. After prayer the supper commences, and the 
visitors walk between the tables. At its close, the “trade-boys” take 
up the baskets, bowls, jacks, piggins, and candlesticks, and pass in pro- 
cession, the bowing to the Governors being curiously formal. This 
spectacle was witnessed by Queen Victoria and Prince Albert in 1845. 

Among the more eminent Blue Coat Boys are Joshua Barnes, editor 
of Anacreon and Euripides; Jeremiah Markland, the eminent critic, 
particularly in Greek literature; Camden, the antiquary; Bishop Stilling- 
fleet; Samuel Richardson, the novelist; Thomas Mitchell, the translator 

284 


The Prince and the Pauper 


^ Aristophanes; Thomas Barnes, many years editor of the London 
i imes; Colendge, Charles Lamb, and Leigh Hunt. 

No boy IS admitted before he is seven years old, or after he is nine; 
and no boy can remain in the school after he is fifteen. King’s boys and 
O^ians alone excepted. There are about 500 Governors, at the 
head of whom are the Sovereign and the Prince of Wales. The qualifi- 
cation for a Governor is payment of £500.— Ibid. 


GENERAL NOTE 


One hears much about the hideous Blue-Laws of Connecticut and 
is accustomed to shudder jriously when they are mentioned. There are 
people in America— and even in England!— who imagine that they were 
a very monument of malignity, pitilessness, and inhumanity; whereas, 
in reality they were about the first sweeping departure from judicial 
ATROCITY which the civilized'* world had seen. This humane and kindly 
Blue-Law code, of two hundred and forty years ago, stands all by itself, 
with ayes of bloody law on the further side of it, and a century and three- 
quarters of bloody English law on this side of it. 

There has never been a time — under the Blue-Laws or any other — 
when above fourteen crimes were punishable by death in Connecticut. 
Bui in England, within the memory of men who are still hale in body and 
mind, two hundred and twenty-three crimes were punishable by 
death! ^ These facts are worth knowing — and worth thinking about, too. 

^See Dr. J. Hammond Trumbull’s Blue Laws, True and False, p. 11. 


THE END 















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